


Guardian of the Heart

by AmbrosiaRush



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, Love, Sexual Content, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-25 23:23:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 33,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3828703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmbrosiaRush/pseuds/AmbrosiaRush
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ashrielle Lavellan wasn't the first choice to be the Inquisitor, but since she has the power to close rifts, she's stuck with the job. Luckily, she's got friends to help her through, and The Iron Bull as her personal body guard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When One Falls

**Author's Note:**

> **Originally posted under the username CourageousLove on FF.net. Too lazy to make a corresponding account here.

Ashrielle Lavellan moved with ethereal grace on the battlefield. The staff, an extension of self, concentrated her efforts. A line in her mind’s eye focussed with a slash of her staff blade. Feeling the power build within she raised a hand, shaking under the weight of power, but she brought the Wall of Fire to life, choking off incoming enemies. Screams hit her ears as they tried to cross it. A satisfied smile curved her lips.

The ebb and flow of magic tingled along her skin, mana regenerating in the heat of battle. Energy swirled within her, rising like a violent tide, she swung her staff as power hit its peak lightning crackled as it arched from one enemy to another. Sweat beaded on the back of her neck as she found herself side by side with Solas. The Red Templar with its impressive armour and intimidating size came closer, sword and shield in hand. Solas pulled up a barrier for them just as the Templar swung. Ashrielle brought the storm, while Solas hit him with a Mind Blast.

The Wall of Fire fizzled out, and more Red Templars were upon them. Upon Bull. The big Qunari fell, and her heart clenched painfully. “Bull!” she screamed. The world around her collapsed to the pinprick of vision where she could still see where he’d fallen. The sounds of the fight died and all she could hear was the strange echoing woomp-woomp that might have been her heartbeat in her ears. Knees shook, but she felt detached from her entire body. She couldn’t breathe through the fear.

“Focus, Da’len!” Solas snapped at her, using Stone Fist to knock back an enemy before it could slash her. He grabbed her arm, for such delicate features, he had an impossibly strong grip as he gave her a quick shake. “Ashrielle!”

Blind panic dug its nails in her soft heart. “Bull’s hurt.”

Solas’s hand loosened. “Then finish this!”

Every instinct told her to run to Bull, but she listened to Solas, returning her focus to battle. The only way she could focus on helping Bull was to eliminate their enemies. She walked steadily into battle, first thing she did was to put up a barrier around Cole- not an easy task considering how quickly he moved and dipped in and out of shadows. Spirit magic wasn’t her specialty, and the barrier wouldn’t be as strong, nor hold as long as Solas’s, but she did what she could.

During her time studying with the Keeper, she’d dipped her toes into all types of magic, but the Storm was where she found her mastery. She thought of the storm, of dark clouds rumbling violently with warning. She felt for it, dug it from every part of her body, little blue streaks of lightning arched from fingertip to fingertip. The Staff head crackled at the build of power, and it shook through the grip, down to the blade.

A Red Templar charged, and she let loose. She channelled the violence, the unpredictability, and even the beauty of storms. She moved like a dancer; agile, fluid, nimble. With each motion energy built and was expended, she dealt damage and dodged blows.

Cole appeared next to her, blades slashing in a violent assault, and disappears into smoke, leaving a bleeding man to crumple to the ground. Solas’s Veilstrike gave them a momentary pause on the field. Ashrielle couldn’t help but look over at Bull. He hadn’t moved.

“Dazed dread. Terror’s talons tear. Is he okay? He has to be okay!” Cole stares at her from under his wide brimmed hat. “Unconscious. Not dead.”

The ‘talons’ as Cole described loosened its grip on her heart, and she felt she could take a full breath again. Red Templars were struggling to get to their feet but she took a quick moment to put her hand on Cole’s shoulder. “Thank you. You helped.”

“I know,” he said, and disappeared back into the smoke only to reappear on the other side of the Templars and dove both blades into weak points in the armour.

Knowing that the quicker she ended this battle, the sooner she could check on Bull, she launched back into the skirmish with vigour. Solas scorched the earth with blazing fire as easily as he pulled energy from the fade to launch at enemies. Cole’s deadly daggers dug deep, leaving boneless bodies to bleed. Ashrielle flowed with the ebbs of her magic, slowing down as her mana drained.

A shield slammed into her back, knocking her to the ground, the air leaving her lungs with a ‘whoosh.’ Her staff slipped from her hands and tumbled down the knoll. Her hands raised defensively on instinct, the pale white-blue barrier flared. As the sword hit it, her pathetic barrier collapsed on itself. Adrenaline and fear coursed through her veins, this would be the battle to end her life? Not Corypheus, but by the blade of some generic baddie on a routine quest? The mark on her hand flared in reaction to her fear as the sword swung down.

The sword ‘tinged’ as it became trapped in the ‘V’ of the twin blades. Cole pushed the sword to the side in one movement, and followed it up with shoving his dagger between the helm and the gorget. The Red Templar gurgled, blood trickled down the armour, rivulets obstructed by spikes of red lyrium. He fell to his knees, and Ashrielle quickly scooted back as he fell forward.

“Vehement, violent, vicious. Cut her open. Watch her bleed.” Cole gave a cursory look around before he tucked away a blade and extended a hand to her. “He had to die.”

“Emma eth,” she whispered to herself, feeling her torso in shock. “I am safe,” she repeated, looking over her body to find no great gushing wounds. On impulse, something she frequently gave into, she launched herself at Cole, hugging him tightly. “My enansal! Ma serannas. Oh sweet elgar. I am so lucky to call you ma falon.” Her hands gripped his bony shoulders and she stood her arm’s length away from him. “Are you okay?

“Relief rushes, gracious and gleeful.” He nodded, a slight flush on his typically pale cheeks. “Big emotions make you mix up your words. It’s okay. I understand.”

Turning to Solas, she found him uninjured. The man passed her staff. He turned and started walking across the battlefield. On the other side, she saw the Iron Bull.

“Wants to run, legs weak, knees shaking, energy expended. I need to be with him. I’m afraid.” With one hand between her shoulder blades, he pushed her forward a step. It was exactly what she needed.

That one step prompted her feet back into action. She sprinted, jumping over bodies, passing Solas, navigating the uneven rocky and snow covered battlefield. She slipped on ice, spine bending too far back as she tried to compensate for the loss of balance. Her left foot sliding back to regain her equilibrium, but not before her back cramped. She ignored the spike of pain as she started off again. “Bull!” she shouted, dropping her staff as she fell to her knees. “Bull, can you hear me?” Her hands pressed against his chest, comforted by the warmth. “Ma lath.” She patted her hand against his face, but still, he did not stir. She turned, eyes seeking the other elf. “Solas, please halani!” Sniffling, she grabbed Bull’s hand, squeezing it tight. “Help him, please.”

Solas knelt beside her. “Calm yourself, Da’len.” At first, being called ‘little child’ by the elf had felt insulting, especially considering the weight of the Inquisition was carried upon her slight shoulders. Over time, she took it for what it was, a sign of fatherly affection. He rubbed his hands together, magic with the appearance of fog slipped between fingertips, wisps swirled around and around until his hands and wrists were covered. Placing them on either side of Bull’s head, he closed his eyes, focusing his energy.

Ashrielle wished she had some talent in that particular spectrum. The one time she tried to heal a minor wound on a friend, she ended up nearly electrocuting him instead. The Keeper made the wise decision to ban her from ever attempting again. She had tried to made up for her lack of Spirit magic expertise by studying herbalism, however, poultices, tinctures, and potions might as well have been poisonous tonics. Ultimately, she just stuck with what she did best, frying everything on a battlefield.

Feeling useless, she squeezed Bull’s hand again. “Garas back to me, my love. Come back to me, ma lath,” she blathered, kissing fingertips, willing him to rejoin her.

“Pick a language, Ashrielle,” Bull muttered. “Gives me a headache trying to figure out-“

“Bull!” She shrieked, cutting him off. “How do you feel? Are you okay?” As he moved to sit up, she firmly placed her hands on his shoulders. “Hamin, Bull, hamin!”

He groaned. “What does that even mean?”

“Relax,” Solas said softly, and though he answered Bull’s question, he stared at Ashrielle. “Relax,” he repeated. “He will be fine.” From his belt, he pulled out a health potion, and held it over Bull’s nose. “Drink this, it’ll help with any residual pain.”

Bull grabbed the potion, his eyes turning on Ashrielle. “You going to let me up, Asaaranda?” She sat back, her bottom resting on her heels. She stared at him, unblinking. He sat up, tossed back the shot, and made a face at the taste. Glancing back at her, he gave a small smirk before he gave her a push, and she fell back onto her butt.

Her hands shot out to keep her from falling all the way back. “Hey!”

“Stop looking at me like I’m already dead,” Bull ordered. “Ham-in,” he said the foreign word slowly.

She bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing at the way he butchered the pronunciation. It delighted her that he took interest in her culture, that he tried to please her by learning little words and phrases. “Hah- _meen_ ,” she emphasized. For her, he repeated it properly, and she smiled. “Can you stand?”

He dragged himself to his feet, glanced around until he spotted his great double-headed axe in the snow. “Ready to go when you are, Boss.”

The four of them started off again, and while she kept her eyes on Bull, she walked beside Solas. “Ma serannas, Solas.” She sprung, hugging him from the side. He didn’t expect it and they stumbled slightly. He let out a rare laugh, one arm wrapping around her affectionately. “A thousand times my thanks!”

“I am here to help, Da’len,” Solas said in the same sage way he said everything else.

She kissed his cheek and released him. “Well, I’m glad you are.”

“Heart full of love. These people, my family. Not blood, but family.” Cole turned to her, a small smile gracing his lips. “I like that.”

She skipped up to where he stood, and slung an arm over his shoulders. “Me too.”


	2. Why She Holds Too Tight

A groan escaped his lips; she had the most exquisite hands. Despite how long and delicate boned her fingers were, they held an unexpected strength that she used to work out the knots in his shoulder. She shifted her weight slightly, but remained straddling his hips. “I’ll have Krem’s butt for hurting you,” Ashrielle muttered. Thumbs pressed, knuckles twisted, her palms soothed. “Are you feeling better?”

The Iron Bull smiled. “If I say no, will you keep rubbing?”

“Maybe.” Her finger trailed over his back, a spiral here, a curve there, a design only in her mind. “But I do have work to do.”

“Are you leaving Skyhold?” Bull asked looking over his shoulder the best he could without flipping her off him.

“In the afternoon.” She bit her bottom lip, a nervous trait that betrayed her emotions.

“And why are you only telling me now?” he asked, but he knew the answer. For the same reason she jumped from her seat to pour his tea, lest he scald himself; for the same reason when he got to the dinner table the meat had already been cut, and his knife was missing; for the same reason she’d taken Blackwall to round out her party to the Hinderlands rather than him.

“We might be seeing some nobles,” she said, her eyes not quite meeting his. “They might find you a curiosity at best, and have hostile feelings toward Qunari at worst.”

He scoffed. “You’re a shitty liar, Asaaranda. You should stick with shocking the crap out of people.”

“I’m not a bad liar,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. A second later she frowned. “I mean, I’m not lying.”

To hell with it. Bull rolled, she fell to the side and before she regained her senses, he pinned her down. He had only intended to be her distraction, they were attracted to one another, and a little fun between the sheets to unwind wasn’t unreasonable. Over time, their stolen moments started to weigh heavier. She’d seek him out, even if he was just lounging around in the tavern, she’d come and sit beside him. Sometimes she’d say nothing, bring paperwork, or a drink of her own, wanting nothing but his company. Other times, she’d encourage him to steal a moment away with her, quick kisses and a pat on the ass was sometimes all they could spare. There were times she’d drift into his room in the middle of the night and stand in the doorway, waiting for some kind of permission. The moment he gave a little flick of his hand, she’d cross the room with her dancer’s grace and snuggle up to him.

“Ever since I got bludgeoned by one of those Red Templars, you’ve kept me sidelined,” he accused. She’d also tried protecting him in dozens of little ways around Skyhold. Krem still would smirk and ask _‘do you need me to pour your tea, Chief?’_ every morning he ate with the Chargers. He’d let Ashrielle get away with it for a short while, but enough was enough. He had taken the time to let his body heal, but he was more than ready to return to battle.

“I have not.” She shifted, trying to escape but the bulk of his body kept her pinned.

He glared down at her, but he couldn’t put any real anger into it. She looked so soft, so sad beneath him. The graceful curve of her bow shaped lips was pulled into a frown. Her eyes were so big they didn’t quite fit her face, and coloured such a faint blue they seemed out of this world, they held the kind of deep sorrow someone of her youth shouldn’t yet know. Her halo of long blonde curls were fanned out from her fall, and free from the elaborate braid she wore into battle.

His thumb ran along her bottom lip. “Yes you have.” She nipped at his thumb, and a spark came to her eyes. “Don’t even try to distract me,” he warned her. “We’re having this conversation.”

“Bull?”

His hand cupped her jaw when she went to look away. “Yes?”

Her hand rested over his, and she turned into his touch. “You really scared me,” she whispered, her lower lip quivering.

Hard to believe such something so small, so unintentional, could be his undoing but the quiver of her lip cut straight to his heart. He had watched her fight Venatori, Red Templars, Spellbinders, and a variety of wildlife and never saw her be afraid. Except for in caves- with spiders- those were always interesting battles, what with all the screaming, and staff waving, and occasional hiding. But other than that, Ashrielle had proven herself to be quite fearless. But here she was, a wisp of a thing, afraid for _him_ , the giant Qunari. If tears weren’t welling in her eyes, he would have laughed.

He wanted to comfort her, and was surprised to find the word ‘Kadan’ on the tip of his tongue. Too much, too soon. Instead, he settled on his affectionate nickname for her. “Asaaranda-“

“I saw you fall from the other side of the battlefield, and everything just stopped.” Her face contorted in pain. “If Solas hadn’t snapped me out of it, I could have gotten everyone killed by just standing there.” Her eyes squeezed shut, tears slipping out the corners, breaking his heart a little more. “When there was a short respite in the battle, Cole told me you weren’t dead, until then, I didn’t know, I didn’t know, Bull.”

“Shhh, it’s okay, Asaaranda,” he said softly, trying to reassure her. “I’m fine.”

“No, no, it’s not okay!” she cried. “I was distracted, I wasn’t… I… I was almost killed, if Cole hadn’t stepped in.” She shook her head. “I should have noticed! Red Templars what with their big metal shields and clanging armour aren’t what anyone would call stealthy, but I was hardly even present. I’m bad with barriers and the second blow would have split me in half the way that sword swung.”

He started to get an uncomfortably clear picture of her, distracted in battle, and on the wrong end of a sword. “But you’re fine, Ashrielle, Cole was there, Solas was there.”

“I know, I know.” Her eyes seemed darker than usual, or maybe it was just the poor lighting in his room. “But when I got to you, you didn’t even stir, and I can’t heal.” Glossy eyes stared up at him. “I have a freaky green magic light on my palm. I had to leave my clan. I had to take on the role of Inquisitor. I am expected to stop Corypheus, and restore order to Thedas. My entire life has been turned upside down, and you-“ her hand trailed down his chest, her eyes full of adoration, “You’re one of the bright spots, you make all those sacrifices worth it.” She managed to rise to her elbows, and touched her forehead against his. “I can’t endure losing you.”

Sensing her need for the connection, his lips brushed against hers. Kisses were slow, savoured like a fine wine. “Ma lath,” she whispered against his lips. My something- he didn’t know the other word, but he felt the weight of emotion behind it. She eased back, stared up at him with a half-smile. “I know I can’t keep you in the relative safety of Skyhold forever, nor can I keep you out of battle, but can you really blame me for wanting to keep you safe?”

She didn’t get the same joy from battle, she did it because she had to, not because she wanted to. If he could keep her safe from harm, he would, and so he couldn’t blame her. If he had his way, she would be free, rather than chained to a responsibility she could not shrug. However, in that scenario she wouldn’t be the inquisitor, and probably would never have come to Skyhold… they would never have met. It’s selfish, but he’s glad things happened the way they did. All personal reasons aside, he couldn’t imagine someone more dedicated to helping people, and ending this horror show started by Corypheus.

He kissed the tip of her nose where her vallaslin started- or ended- as it lined the bridge of her nose and branched off in multiple directions covering her forehead. “I won’t blame you for it,” he said evenly. “But it has to end.”

Lips thinned as she frowned. “Yes. I know.”

“Hey, Chief! The- ah, crap.” Bull glanced over his shoulder at Krem, who stood awkwardly in the doorway. He felt Ashrielle shift to look around his body. “Sorry. Didn’t know you had company.”

Ashrielle squirmed a bit. “I should be leaving anyway. I have inquisitorial business to attend to,” she said, and Bull shifted off of her. Upon standing, she smoothed out the fitted beige shirt, adorned with filigree clasps, and high collar.

“Nobles?” Bull asked, sitting on the side of the bed.

She let out a long, suffering sigh. “Afraid so.” She gave him a quick kiss. “Dareth, ma lath.” Turning on her heel, she headed for the door, but paused in front of Krem. “Good work with that shield,” she said, and continued on her way. Bull smiled, at least she no longer blamed Krem for his sore shoulders.

Krem glanced over his shoulder, waiting until the Inquisitor shut the door before turning to The Iron Bull. A satisfied smirk fit to his face. “Aw, was she healing your boo-boo.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Bull said thought it lacked any heat. He rolled his great shoulders. “Ready for round two?”

The smirk became a smile. “Shouldn’t you be asking her?” he asked, pointing a thumb over his shoulder.

Bull grabbed his shield. “Just for that, I won’t be going easy on you.”

Krem rolled his eyes. “You never go easy on me.”


	3. How The Pieces Fit

A cool breeze blew her hair around as she walked barefoot along the battlements. The view from above showed the progress the workers had made on returning Skyhold to its former glory. Soldiers ran drills, refugees sat by the fire, scouts moved in that hurried way of theirs. The beautiful orange and gold hues of the sunset put a smile on Ashrielle’s face.

In her hands, she carried a tray of tea and cookies. She’d spent the early afternoon in the kitchen, baking the cookies with Sera, laughing and flicking flour at one another. Thinking on it, she glanced down and found she still had some on her shirt, and in all likelihood, still had some in her hair. Oh well.

Figuring the Commander could use a little pick me up, she’d set some cookies aside for him, and made a fresh pot of tea once she’d cleaned up the place- Sera had made herself scarce for that part. So rarely did she see the Commander take any time for himself, she wanted him to know his hard work was appreciated. At the door to his office, she paused to balance the tray on one hand, and opened the door. “Commander, I hope I’m not interrupting.”

He glanced up at her, handsome features scrunched in pain, his hands were pressed in fists against the desk, like it was all that kept him upright. “Inquisitor,” he managed to say through clenched teeth.

His pain struck her in the heart, and she took a step forward. “Oh, Cullen.” During her momentary lapse of concentration the tray went off balance, sliding forward. She took another step, slamming her other hand up overcompensated, and being so focussed on the tray, she- whose grace was always noted- tripped over her own two feet. The tray crashed on the ground, the cookies scattered, but stone plate survived. The ceramic teapot from Orlais, however, did not. She stepped on one of the shards before completely losing her balance and falling to her bottom.

“Inquisitor!” His voice full of alarm, he rushed to her side. She sat dazed for a moment, Cullen’s hands warm on her shoulders. “Inquisitor?”

She focussed on him, her lips curving upward before she let out a little laugh. “Cullen, I just went butt over teakettle. Literally.”

He stared at her for a moment, and then his lips twitched, one side curving into a half smile. “I guess you did.” He looked her over quickly. “Are you hurt?”

She frowned. “I think I stepped on something.”

Shifting, he took her ankle in hand, and studied her foot. “Hm, yes. Would you like me to take it out, or would you prefer I summon Solas?”

Not wanting to bother Solas for something so little, she covered her eyes. “Do it quick.”

“Are you… squeamish, Inquisitor?”

Hearing humour mixed with disbelief in his voice, she peeked through her fingers. “Only when it’s me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“And people I care about,” she added. “Or animals.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, and she just knew he was trying not to laugh. “So you’re squeamish.”

She huffed out a breath. “Yes, I’m squeamish. Are you going to pull it out or-“ She felt a slight pinch, and stared at the blood covered fragment in his hand. “That was in my foot.”

He turned it over, studying it. “Yes, well, it’s out now.”

“Well. That’s good.”

_And she dropped like a stone._

::

“Wait, wait, wait. Explain that again, Curly.” The gentle rumble of Varric’s voice came to her through the heavy fog. “She’s been on the battlefield before, and you’re telling me that tiny cut took her down?”

“Well, she is a mage. Her attacks wouldn’t typically lead to bloodshed,” was Cullen’s logical response. “And to be fair, it did bleed quite a bit.”

“Considering how frequently she takes this guy with her, she has to be used to blood,” Varric argued.

“She tries not to look,” The Iron Bull said.

“Have you- Maker! What happened to the Inquisitor?” Cassandra asked, her voice sounding closer and closer.

“She nicked her foot,” Varric explained, humour ringing in his voice.

Cassandra made that disgusted ‘tisk’ sound. “And she looked at the wound, didn’t she?”

“Wait, you knew about this?” Varric asked, sounding very much put out by the fact that Cassandra hadn’t shared this tidbit of information with him.

“Of course,” she said, sounding quite high and mighty with her Nevarran accent. “Vivianne once got a minor wound from an arrow, and as a result, I had to carry the Inquisitor back to camp.”

“Give her some breathing room,” Solas said, his voice sounding further away. “She’s healed, and will return to us when she’s ready.”

“Well, we didn’t think she was bleeding to death, Chuckles,” Varric said.

She forced herself to open her eyes to find them all much closer than expected. “Um. Hi.”

“Good to see those pretty eyes, your Inquisitorialness.” Varric gave a mock bow, and a smile. “How are you feeling?”

She felt the heat in her cheeks, and covered her face with her hands. “Embarrassed,” she muttered.

“It’s a completely normal reaction,” Solas said.

“No it isn’t,” Bull said, booming laughter following.

“The embarrassment,” Solas clarified, and Bull laughed harder.

Ashrielle decided it couldn’t get worse, not when even Solas joined in teasing her. At least everyone appeared amused when she peeked through her fingers, even the critically serious Cassandra. She gave a little wave of her hand. “Nothing to see here.”

“Right,” Cassandra nodded. “Varric, I need a word.”

“Alright, Seeker.” He gave her a wink, and followed the woman out of the rotunda.

The Iron Bull crouched at her side. “Do you want anything?” he asked, his voice a whisper shared between them.

“I’m fine. I thought you were spending time with the Chargers.”

“I was, but then I saw Cullen carrying your limp body across the battlements. I thought-” He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. You’re fine.”

She smirked. “Admit it, you were worried.”

“Na, you’re as safe as a stronghold with the Commander.” He caressed her face, and then stood. “Now, I have to go, it’s Rocky’s round at the Tavern.”

She smirked. “I see where I land on your list of priorities.”

He smirked back. “Well, you aren’t naked. Being naked will definitely bring you to the top of the list.”

Cullen cleared his throat loudly at the same time Solas made the point of coughing.

“Prudes,” Bull muttered, before stalking off.

She sat up slowly, and looked up at Cullen. “Thanks for taking care of me.” She turned to Solas. “Both of you.”

“Of course, Da’len,” Solas said, while he continued his work.

Cullen just gave her a slight nod.

She glanced down at her foot, and grinned seeing a pretty swatch of velveteen tied around her injured foot, just above where she always had cloth wrapped in the middle of her soles. “Cullen, would you walk with me down to the kitchens? I’d like to retry that tea and cookies thing.”

“Well, supervision might be necessary,” Cullen said, offering his arm to her.

She smiled up at him, hooking her arm around his. “Creators, now you’re going to tease me too?”

“My apologies, Inquisitor.”

She waved it off. “There is no ill intent, no need to apologise. Solas, would you care to join us?”

“No, thank you,” he said, distractedly, and she and Cullen left him to his studies.

She limped a little feeling the small prick of pain. Solas, of course, wouldn’t waste healing talents on such a small wound, it would heal quickly on its own.

“You’re in pain,” Cullen said, not asking, just stating.

“You were, earlier,” she looked up at him, and winced, before shifting her weight back to her uninjured foot. “I brought the tea and cookies for you, you work so hard- but you had this look of pain.” She looked up and down the stairwell they stood in, with no one in sight, she leaned in a little. “Is it the withdrawal?” she whispered.

“Some days are harder than others,” he admitted softly, continuing to lead her down the stairs. “Your injury distracted me greatly, well, your entire juggling act trying to save the tray, really.”

She sighed, and then let out a pitched yelp. Cullen held most of her weight as she kept her injured foot off the floor. “I’m sorry, I’m being a wimp. You probably just… what did those soldiers say the other day?” She tapped her chin while she tried to remember. “Oh yes, ‘rub some dirt in it,’ and carry on with your duties.”

He chuckled. “Well, that might account for some of Dorian’s comments on Ferelden on hygiene.” She laughed. “Stand here,” he ordered, he descended two stairs, and stood with his back to her. “Come on.”

“Come on… do you mean, should I?”

He patted his own shoulders. “At this pace, the cookies will be gone when we get there.”

She wrapped her arms around loosely around his neck, and jumped, he caught her legs and continued down the stairs in the same easy movement. “You’re quite natural at this,” she noted.

“I have sisters,” he replied.

::

Ashrielle smiled while Cullen enthusiastically told an anecdote from his youth. She’d found it difficult to make time to speak with Cullen. His job organizing and training the Inquisition’s forces took the vast majority of his time and energy. She too had a heavy burden, and much of her time was taken. She wanted more moments like this. The simple moments, chatting in the kitchen, eating delicious cookies, and sipping on hot tea. She desired the closeness she’d once had with her clan, the camaraderie, the friendship, the sharing of laughter.

“…And into the lake they both went!” He burst out laughing, and she joined in. She’d lost herself in watching him; the changing emotions on his face, the way he would jab a finger into the table to make a point, the way his voice would quiet down for privacy although they were already alone, so much so that she hardly followed the story. She just enjoyed spending time with him.

He shook his head, a grin still stuck on his face. Reaching for another cookie, he made eye contact with her. “I miss them from time to time, Mia writes frequently, and I write… infrequently. Do you miss your family?”

She nodded, but smiled. “Though, not as much as I did. Family is not a blood, it’s not a clan. It’s a feeling. And it has grown anew here in Skyhold, hearty as Elfroot.” She held up her cup. “To family, Cullen,” she said, testing his name on her lips, and challenging him to call her by name rather than title in turn.

His smile was slow, and sweet. “Alright, Ashrielle,” he tapped his cup against hers. “Family.”


	4. What She Fears

“No.” The Inquisitor planted her feet at the entrance of the cave. “No way.”

“We have to go in,” Varric said, adjusting Bianca in his arms. “We need that Spider Ichor for the anti-venom.”

Ashrielle stabbed the ground with her staff blade. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Fine, we’ll go in without you,” The Iron Bull said, starting toward the mouth of the cave.

“Fine!” she shouted at his back, watching as Varric grabbed Cole and dragged him along.

Bull glanced over his shoulder. “You can stand out here in the rain-“

“Perfect.” The rain was merciless on the Storm Coast, but she’d gladly get soaked to the bone before going into a cave guarded by curtains of cobwebs.

He stood with his back to the cave entrance, arms wide, taunting her. “Stand there, all on your own.”

Cole pulled away from Varric. “This isn’t safe. She shouldn’t be alone. We’re supposed to protect her.”

“Well, we need to be able to make the anti-venom, otherwise some of the scouts might die,” Varric explained gravely. “Since her Inquisitorialness is a chicken-“

“She is not a chicken,” Cole said, clearly perplexed. “She’s an elf.”

Both Varric and Bull had a hard time keeping composure after that. Varric covered his chuckle with a cough. “Look Cole, she wants to stay out here which puts us a fighter down, so we need you in there. You want to help the scouts, right?”

Cole tugged on the end of his tunic, shifting from foot to foot. “Yes.”

“Then come on,” Varric said, taking the lead.

“But what if one of the spiders leave?” Cole asked, worried, and on edge. “She will be alone.”  

The three men turned to her at once. Ashrielle stared Cole, her face gone pale, eyes wide, mouth dropped open. “Alone?” she whispered fearfully. “With the spider?” Even from the distance, Bull saw her lip tremble, and he felt a little bad for baiting her. She pulled her staff from the earth and rushed to catch up. Instinct brought her to his side, her hand grabbed his harness. Her big eyes pled with him. “Don’t leave me with the spiders.”

“Come on, Asaaranda,” Bull took the lead, not intending for the spiders to get close enough to hurt her. “You can light them up from a safe distance.”

She followed behind the great wall of Bull, Cole to her right, and Varric taking the lead. After lighting the first brazier, she froze in horror. Webs which clung to her leather arm band shimmered in the firelight. She let out a scream, jumping back, and bumping into Cole. “Ew, ew!” she shook her arm vigorously. “Get it off! Get it off!”

“Calm down!” Bull ordered sharply.

The scraping sound drew their attention. “Well, I think you’ve alerted everything within a mile of our location,” Varric muttered.

Cole took her hand and brushed away the cobwebs. “They are gone.”

She sighed. “Thank you, Cole.”

“Something is coming,” Bull said quietly, eyes trained on the creature moving through the dark. “Quick, low to the ground.”

Ashrielle pre-emptively blasted it with a fireball, lighting the dragonling up. She turned her face away as Bull took a mighty swing with his axe. “Ha! Dead!”

She lit up another brazier, a two person camp had been set up at some point, but it was clear it hadn’t been used in a long time. A few bedrolls, a circle of stones, a couple dusty tomes, and a chest sat where travellers had once taken refuge. She bent down, and studied the books. Perhaps Solas or Dorian would enjoy them, with her friends in mind, she tucked the books away.

Varric crouched by a trunk, and opened it. “Huh.” He picked out an object with care, and turned to Ashrielle. “Do you want it?”

She stared at the beautiful glass Halla. “It’s beautiful.”

“Then for you, Your Worship,” he said, teasingly.

“You might want to hold on to that,” Bull advised. “Spiders, incoming.”

No sooner than the word ‘spider’ left his mouth, Ashrielle shrieked and climbed up the nearest boulder. Logically, she knew the giant spiders could climb, but she wanted to put as much space between them and herself as possible. “Kill it!” She shouted when she saw the first one coming. “Kill it!”

One spider was followed by another, and another still. Varric stood close to the boulder, a last line of defense, shooting arrows. Cole leapt, struck, and used the shadows to his advantage. Ashrielle became completely hysterical, screaming and pointing, begging for ‘eight-legged doom-monsters’ to be exterminated. Her reaction made it impossible for Bull to stop laughing, which made him appear completely maniacal as he hacked into spiders with his greataxe. Between Ashrielle’s reaction to the spiders, and Bull’s reaction to Ashrielle, Varric was in stitches, his aim shaky at best and he had to wait longer to fire the crossbow to prevent any friendly fire. Only Cole had a mind for battle, and quickly dispatched that which caused the Inquisitor such profound fright.

Bull merrily hacked into a great spider, taking one if its legs clean off. The battle left spider and dragonling corpses everywhere. Ashrielle screamed- not one of her orders, nor was it followed by a chant of ‘ew, ew, ew.’ The absolute fear sent a chill through him. He downed the last of the spiders before he turned around.

“Shit!” Varric shouted, looking up. One spider had come down from the ceiling, and pinned Ashrielle on her back. She had her staff in both hands keeping its venomous fangs away from her flesh.

“Shoot it!” Bull ordered, rushing over.

Varric took an extra second to aim, not wanting a rushed shot to go low and hit Ashrielle instead. He pulled the trigger and the bolt hit true. In that moment as the spider shrieked, Bull grabbed Ashrielle under the arms and pulled her off the boulder, out from under the poisonous spider. Her feet hit the ground hard, and she had trouble getting them under her. Varric and Cole finished the battle off, both of them turning to check on Ashrielle.

The Inquisitor sobbed into Bull’s chest, her words were frantic and indistinguishable. One hand was clenched in Bull’s harness, the other occasionally hit his chest without any heat. “I want to go home!” was the one thing they all managed to understand.

“Get her out of here,” Varric said. “The kid and I will collect the ichor.”

Bull nodded. Instead of asking her if she wanted to walk, or carrying her more appropriately, he just lifted her by her bottom, and her legs tightened around his waist, her arms securing themselves around his neck. “You’re okay,” he insisted, walking her past the corpses on the ground. “You’re just fine.”

“No. No I’m not,” she shouted in his ear. “It was on me! That is not okay!”

Outside, the clouds still hung heavy in the sky, rain fell in sheets, and he pulled on her long braid till she drew back enough that he could see her face. “You didn’t get bitten, right?”

Her trembling hands went to her neck, and down the front of her light armour. “No. No, right? I don’t think so.”

“Those things are ugly, I get that, but they’re easily killed,” Bull said, sitting down on the rocks, keeping her straddling his lap while they waited. “I don’t get why you’re so afraid of them.”

She shivered. “No.”

“No?”

Her arms tightened around him. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

He wanted to help her relax. With her body still resting on his, he felt how tense she was, still ready for battle despite being a safe distance from the cave. “Hamin,” he said, the word still feeling foreign on his tongue. She eased a little, pulling away enough to look at his face. “You are safe.”

Slowly, she nodded. “No more caves, okay?”

He kissed her slowly, feeling some of her anxiety melt away. “Okay,” he whispered against her lips.


	5. Who She Is

Varric and the Inquisitor sat on the stairs in the Undercroft. He waited patiently for Harritt to finish with Bianca, while Ashrielle waited for Dagna to finish enchanting.

“Varric,” Ashrielle said, breaking their companionable silence. “You call Solas, ‘Chuckles,’ right?”

He smirked. “Yes.”

She tucked a blonde ringlet behind her ear. “And Cole is ‘Kid.’”

“Well,” Varric sat back a little. “Yeah, I guess I call him that occasionally.”

“And you call Bull, ‘Tiny,’ which I don’t get, because he isn’t tiny.” She paused a moment, thinking it over. “Not anywhere.”

Varric snorted. “Too much information.”

She flushed, but didn’t apologise. “And Cassandra you call, ‘Seeker,’ Vivienne, ‘the Iron Lady,’ and I’ve heard you call Dorian, ‘Sparkler’-“

“Yeah, I give nicknames, where are you going with this?”

She shrugged, wiggled her bare feet, and twisted the pretty Enhanced Lightning Bolt Ring. “In my clan, nicknames were given either to tease, or to show an ease of familiarity, a friendship. I think while you say ‘Seeker’ with a certain amount of exasperation, the title itself is respectful and fitting of Cassandra. So… friendship, right?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Varric replied with a small grin. “But she hasn’t killed me yet, so that’s something.” He waited, but it became apparent that she was losing nerve to ask what laid at the heart of her questioning. “Well?” He nudged her with his elbow. “Out with it, I don’t bite.”

“You call me Inquisitor. Never my name. Never something like ‘Da’len,’ like Solas calls me, or ‘Asaaranda,’ like Bull. I just… it’s my title, a very strange, and loaded title. Do you use it out of respect, or are we… do you…” She flushed and stared down at her hands as she twisted the ring. “Do you consider me your friend? Or am I just a figurehead to you?”

The frown pulled at his lips. “A friend, Ashrielle. But you’re a highly respected friend.”

She smiled. “Thank you, Varric. You’ve put my heart at ease.”

“Inquisitor,” Dagna called out. “Your staff is ready, want to test it out?”

::

Skyhold was no place for children, but some were displaced, or orphaned. Josephine worked on a plan to get them somewhere safer. Everyone remembered what happened in Haven, and no one wanted a repeat. The civilian casualties had been high. Still, there were a handful of kids, currently they all sat in semi-circle around the Inquisitor. Varric stood too far away to hear what she said, but her hands were waving, and she mimed battling with a sword and shield, then she cast fire at the pit and it erupted into flame. The children clapped and laughed.

He couldn’t help but grin as she performed a rather dramatic death. “Looks like I’m not the only storyteller,” he muttered to himself.

“She’s at it again,” Cullen said.

Varric jumped, he hadn’t heard the commander’s approach, which was ridiculous considering how much armour the other man wore. “Hey Curly, does she do this often?”

Cullen let out his typical dry ‘ha’ that sadly was as close as he typically got to laughter. “Too often for Josephine’s liking. It’s _undignified_.” They watched for a moment, Ashrielle sat with her legs crossed, and the children gathered close and practically piled up to cuddle with the Inquisitor. As she spoke, perhaps launching into a new tale, she looked to each child in turn. “They worship her though. They’re little, but they believe.” Varric looked up at the Cullen, and the little smile on the Commander’s face. “I’ll go distract Josephine before she hears of this.”

“You’re willing to risk the wrath of Josephine for some kids?” Varric asked, surprised that the direct Commander of the Inquisitions forces would care about the opinions of children too young to be useful in battle.

“Didn’t say I was doing it for the children,” Cullen replied. “I’m doing this for the Inquisition.”

Varric turned from Cullen’s retreating back, and stared at the scene before him. One of the girls was braiding Ashrielle’s hair, even as the Inquisitor continued talking. Ashrielle looked happy, and more carefree than he’d seen her in a long time.

::

While the Inquisitor was a pretty thing to look at, she didn’t have the best singing voice in the world. What she lacked in talent, she more than made up for in enthusiasm- but that might have been the alcohol. Harold’s Rest was alive with joyous song, perhaps because Maryden was playing the happy tune of ‘Sera,’ and the Inquisitor herself danced upon a table, belting out the lyrics.

Varric had joined the Chargers some hours ago, and he’d lost count of how many rounds had been purchased. Apparently, Stitches had lost a bet with Skinner, and now had to buy for as long as they could drink without someone calling it a night, or ending it prematurely by puking. And this group could handle their ale.

“Maker, Inquisitor, aren’t you done drinking yet?” Stitches asked as she picked up her tankard again.

“And be the weak link?” Ashrielle laughed, and jumped off the table. Dalish grabbed her by the back of the breeches before she fell over. “Not a chance!”

“You’ll regret it tomorrow,” Stitches insisted.

She chugged down the rest of her ale, and slammed the tankard down, letting out an undignified belch. “But you’ll be regretting it tonight!” The rest of the Chargers let out a hoot of laughter.

“She’s a keeper, Chief,” Krem said, a large grin on his face.

Bull was the second person to grab Ashrielle by the back of the breaches, but instead of steadying her, he pulled her off balance and she landed on his lap. Happily, she curled up there, snuggling against him.

Krem hit his mug of ale against Stitches’. “Time for another round.”

::

Somehow, Varric had been drafted into delivering a note from Josephine to Liliana. Quietly, he made his way through the rotunda, careful not to disturb Solas’s work. He climbed the stairs, and paused as he heard Dorian’s smooth, refined voice. It took a moment to realize he was reading out loud. Curiosity got the best of the dwarf, and he climbed the rest of the way up the stairs, taking the time to peek into the alcove Dorian spent much of his time.

There sat a pretty picture. The duo sat on the floor with their backs against the wall. Dorian had one leg propped up, the book balanced against it as he turned the page and continued reading. Ashrielle sat in a white, ruffled nightshirt- a sight which would give Josephine a stroke. Her head rested against Dorian’s shoulder, her long blonde curls tumbled over her shoulder, and down to her waist. Dorian turned to her, and smiled.

“How hungover is she?” Varric asked quietly, not wanting to wake her.

Dorian smirked. “Hungover? She might still be drunk. However, she brought me back this lovely book from the Storm Coast, so as long as she doesn’t puke on me, I’ll deal with her drunkness.”

“And Ruffles if she finds her?”

Dorian studied the book a second longer. “It is a _really_ good book.” He sighed dramatically. “And our Lady Inquisitor _is_ the only one who is likely to stop Corypheus.” He waved Varric’s worries away. “She is safe with me.”

::

Once he noticed the pattern, he saw it everywhere. _Ashrielle likes to be in close proximity to those she’s emotionally close to_. At dinner, she sat so close to Sera that they keep bumping elbows. While they’re getting ready for a short outing, she took it upon herself to adjust the buckles on Cole’s jacket and when he muttered his thanks, she kissed him on the cheek. When he wrote letters to Hawke in the Throne Room, she snuck up on Cullen and jumped on his back, and it’s almost like he expected it, because he -caught her legs, and Varric heard the Commander laugh- a real one- for the first time in a week. In the Rotunda he found her curled up on the couch, her head resting on Solas’s thigh, while he read a book, not paying her a single bit of attention, like he accepted that she was there, and he’d just work around her. He caught her with Krem around the back of the Tavern, Krem hand stitching some fabric together, while Ashrielle knelt behind him, looking over his shoulder, and asking questions, which Krem patiently answered. Naturally, whenever she was around The Iron Bull, she would grab his hand if they were walking, or would be sitting on his lap if they were lounging around- or the chair next to him if there were some nobles around, she did try remember Josephine’s rules.

He noticed a similar pattern with those who were more serious and unyielding in nature. She kept her hands clasped behind her back whenever she had to talk to Vivienne. With Cassandra she kept a slight distance and stuttered occasionally. Blackwall, she’d watch from a distance when he carved, but only spoke to him when there was inquisitorial business. Josephine, she avoided, probably because Ashrielle hadn’t taken to etiquette lessons. Liliana’s presence visibly scared her.

Armed with the new information he looked back at her interactions with him. Quick to smile, or to lean in and share a dirty joke. Perhaps he laid somewhere in the middle, or as her question earlier in the week indicated, she didn’t quite know how he felt about her.

Finding her sitting on the short, stone wall, with her legs dangling over the edge, he approached making enough noise not to startle her. She turned to him and smiled. “Hi Varric! Come, sit. I’m watching the recruits spar.”

“How are they doing?” he asked, sitting down beside her, a little nervous with his feet dangling over a decent fall and tents below.

“Well, Bull and Krem took a batch, and Cullen and Cassandra took another. Bull and Krem keep it light, fun, they’re all laughing, but they aren’t getting much done. Cullen and Cassandra take it much more serious, but some of the men are getting to nervous and they’re making mistakes because of it.”

“Which way do you think is better?”

She considered it a moment. “I’d rather work with Bull and Krem. If I worked with Cullen and Cassandra, I’d probably get really flustered and hurt myself or someone else on accident. The soldiers are at ease with Bull and Krem.” She swung her feet carelessly, and he worried about her falling off. “I like being at ease. It’s kind of in short supply these days.”

“I’ve a question for you.”

“Shoot.” She grinned. “Not literally!”

He chuckled. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Snuggles. Now the question-“

She whirled on him. “What did you just call me?”

“Ah… Snuggles?”

A slow smile blooms on her face. “Really? A nickname? For me? My nickname?”

He almost laughed at how excited she got over it. “Sure, you said your clan had nicknames, right, it can’t be your first one? I mean, if they were really uncreative, they had to have called you ‘Ash’ for short.”

“Yeah, sure. Or they’d call me ‘lethallin’ or ‘lethallan’ which means-“ she paused trying to find the right word to explain it to him. “I guess cousin, maybe clansman, or brother, or sister, it’s about family- but not necessarily blood, but affection. It’s pretty casually thrown around.” She shifted, cheeks reddening. “More often I was called Da’Numin. Little tears. Probably translates better to crybaby.”

“You? The badass Inquisitor who shuts rifts and stood up to Corypheus?” The deep set frown worried him. Away from the big decisions, she typically looked carefree. Sometimes, he saw her like this, that deep, unfathomable sadness in her eyes, but frequently it was gone before he could really grasp it.

A small smile eases the sadness back, but doesn’t eradicate it. “I think I just… feel things more intensely than others. A joke Krem tells makes Bull chuckle, but I laugh, and I carry that happiness with me for hours. Vivienne admonishes the way I have my hair, and I fret and worry, and try to do better for the rest of the day. Or… my mother gets attacked by a darkspawn, and the clan decide it’s a mercy.” She twisted her ring. “And I am inconsolable.”

“Maker,” he whispered. With an arm around her waist, he pulled her. “Come here, Snuggles.”

She smiled, just a little, and rested her head on his. “I like Snuggles much better than Da’Numin.”

“Well, I’m clearly more awesome at assigning nicknames,” Varric said. “It’s kind of a calling.”

“So, what were you going to ask me before I cut you off?”

“Oh, just a thought I had, you seem distant from Cassandra, but you frequently go to speak with her, or bring her with your party,” Varric said. “Just wondering why if you don’t like her.”

She pulled away to look at him. “Who said I don’t like Cassandra?”

“No one, just something I noticed, you keep your distance. Sometimes, you even stutter.”

“She’s intimidating.” She shrugged. “I like her. I respect her. I want her opinion on things. I want her to like me.” She pursed her lips. “I’m just not sure I go about it right. We’re very different. I tried to hug her once, and she took me straight to the ground- in fairness, she was completely apologetic about it, and explained that she isn’t used to people trying to flank-hug her.”

Varric snickered as he shook his head. “Try and find some common ground.”

“Common ground. Yeah. I’ll work on that.” The two of them watched the recruits spar for a few minutes before Ashrielle broke the silence. “So, what do they call you, Varric? Archer? Tales?” She rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I fear I’m not as gifted at this as you.”

“Eh, they mostly include profanity,” he said. When she raised an eyebrow, he continued. “I had a pretty dysfunctional family.”

“Lethallin, it is then,” she said contently, swinging her feet once more.


	6. Where Decisions Are Made

They stood on the edge of the cliff at the end of the battle. Ashrielle, Solas, Cassandra, and The Iron Bull stood as Gatt, sent off their flare to signal the Qunari Dreadnaught.

“The Chargers already sent theirs up,” Bull said, pride in his voice. “See ‘em down there?”

Ashrielle grinned, the Chargers were a great bunch. They were worth so more than just a mercenary force for the Inquisition. They were Bull’s; his allies, his friends, his family. She loved them for that, and the more she got to know them, the more she enjoyed them herself. Maybe if she practiced enough, she’d get that cross-stitch as neat as Krem managed. Maybe if she spent a little more time with Stitches, she’d finally get the hang of potion making.

“I knew you gave them the easier job,” Gatt said.

She glanced up at Bull, and caught the smile. Here, Bull could command the battlefield, of course he would take on the more difficult target himself. He nudged her and pointed. “There’s the dreadnaught.” He sighed, a little wistful. “That brings back memories.” The cannons went off, and Ashrielle jumped, grabbing Bull’s hand. He ran his thumb over her knuckles as the smuggler’s ship was hit. He let out a burst of laughter, which had her relaxing. “Nice one!” A brief moment passed and his hand squeezed hers. “Crap.”

She took a step forward, and saw the same thing he did. Enemy reinforcements heading for the Chargers. They would be pinned down and hopelessly outnumbered. Ashrielle turned to Bull, tightening her hold on his hand. “They’ve still got time to fall back if you signal them now!”

He shut his eyes for a brief moment. “Yeah,” the word was ground out with pain.

Gatt shook his head. “Your men need to hold that position, Bull.”

Bull turned, the big dangerous Qunari staring down the elf. “They do that, they’re dead.”

“Signal them!” Ashrielle demanded, pulling on Bull’s hand. Her heart hammered in her chest, throat dry, each breath cutting into her lungs. “Signal them now!”

“No!” Gatt snarled at her. “If they don’t hold, the Venatori will retake it and the dreadnaught is dead.”

“I don’t care,” she whispered. The Creators may damn her for it, but she couldn’t put the good of the many over the good of the close and few.

“You’d be throwing away an alliance between the Inquisition and the Qunari,” Gatt snapped at them. He turned to Bull, disappointment in his eyes. “You’d be declaring yourself Tal-Vashoth! With all you’ve given the Inquisition, half the Ben-Hassrath think you’ve betrayed us already! I stood up for you Hissrad! I told them you’d never become Tal-Vashoth!”

“They’re my men,” Bull snarled.

Gatt relented slightly. “I know. But you need to do what’s right. Hissrad… for the alliance, and for the Qun.”

Bull turned to Ashrielle. “Inquisitor’s choice,” he said, putting it in her hands.

He didn’t just entrust lives of his men to her, but in this moment, she held the path for the rest of his live too. Ben-Hassrath, or The Iron Bull, Tal-Vashoth. She didn’t make the decision with her head, but rather with her heart. “For Creator’s sake, call the retreat!”

“Don’t,” Gatt snapped.

Ashrielle pointed at Gatt. “Shut up!”

Bull stepped forward and blew the horn, signalling the retreat.

Gatt glared at Ashrielle. “You’ll regret this,” he whispered.

She stared out over the cliff, the figures were hard to distinguish, but she could make out Dalish’s ‘bow,’ and Grim’s shield. They were making haste toward the treeline, to safety, to life, and she found she could breathe a little easier.

“They’re falling back,” Bull said, relief lacing every word.

“All these years, Hissrad, and you throw away all that you are. For what? For this?” He gestured to the sure to be destroyed dreadnaught. “For them?” he snarled, pointing at Ashrielle, and their companions.

Ashrielle lost the ties to a temper she didn’t even know she had. She dropped her staff, took two quick steps, and threw her weight into the punch that caught Gatt in the jaw. He stumbled back a step, but before he could retaliate, Bull stood to her side, a step in front, just in case. “His name is Iron Bull,” she snapped. “And the Chargers are worth more than you can understand! You arrogant piece of nug poop!”

Gatt looked at Bull one more time. “Iron Bull,” he muttered with disgust, and walked away.

The Venatori mages started to attack the ship, and Ashrielle forced herself to watch. She condemned every man and woman aboard to death, and she wouldn’t skirt the weight of that.

“No way they’ll get out of range,” Bull said quietly. “Won’t be long now.”

Ashrielle turned to Bull. “When the dreadnaught sinks…”

He raised an eyebrow. “Sinks?” A shake of his head. “Qunari dreadnaughts don’t sink.”

The sudden blast had everyone shrinking down and putting up their arms. She stared down, the explosion had destroyed the dreadnaught, parts were everywhere. Bodies…

“Come on,” Bull said. And she felt it now more than ever, a distance between them. “Come on, let’s get back to my boys.”

::

When they return to Skyhold, Ashrielle sought sanctuary in the rotunda with Solas’s comforting presence. She sat on the couch, her feet up, chin resting on her knees, arms hugging her legs. She watched as he read at his desk, occasionally checking another book, or making notes. After a few hours, he sighed. “Tell me, Da’len, what bothers you?”

She blinked the tears she kept fighting with. “I’m not cut out to be the Inquisitor,” she whispered.

He left his work, and joined her. “Making the right choice is often difficult.”

“Was it?” she asked, feeling smaller than she ever had. “Was it the right choice? I sacrificed a dreadnaught full of Qunari, for a handful of men. I destroyed any chance of an alliance with the Qunari.” She sniffled. “Liliana wouldn’t have made this choice. I don’t think Cullen would have-“

“Yes, he would. He understands war, but he also understands the worth of a few loyal, skilled, good men over a potentially rocky alliance.”

“Still. Someone else should be making these choices. Not me.”

“Do you regret your choice? Do you wish you had saved the dreadnaught and sacrificed the Chargers?”

She thought of Krem teaching her to sew, of Rocky testing his black powder and burning off his eyebrows in the process, the way Dalish continued to insist her staff was a bow, Grim’s slow smile at a dirty joke, Skinner’s wit as sharp as her blade, and Stitches’s compassion. She shook her head. “I wouldn’t sacrifice them for anything.”

Solas tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “Then let it go of the guilt you burden yourself with, Da’len.”

“Bull’s people, versus the Qun, I don’t think I can make a right choice in his eyes.”

“You’re afraid he is angry with you?”

“A little,” she admitted. “Or sad. If someone killed my clan, even for my people, it would hurt.”

“He is a warrior. He understands loss.” Solas stood. “You should speak with him.”

The thought made her stomach tighten in knots, and not the good kind. “Yes,” she said, even if her nerves made her feel sick. “I should. Thank you.”

::

As she approached, Bull looked up. “Hey, Boss.”

 _Boss,_ that hurt, not Asaaranda anymore, but Boss. She swallowed hard past the lump it caused in her throat.

They both turned as Gatt approached. “Inquisitor,” he said the word as though it left a foul taste in his mouth, his eyes narrowing on her. “It is my duty to inform you that there will be no alliance between our peoples. Nor will you be receiving any more Ben-Hassrath reports from you Tal-Vashoth ally.”

Bull stepped away from the scaffolding he’d been leaning against. “Are you under orders to kill me, Gatt?”

“No. The Ben-Hassrath have already lost one good man. They’d rather not lose two.” He shot one last dark glance at the Inquisitor before taking his leave.

Ashrielle watched the elf walk a distance before turning slowly to Bull. He huffed out a breath. “So much for that.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” he asked, sounding surprised.

She opened one eye a bit. “The dreadnaught… I made you Tal-Vashoth.” Her eyes closed again, her hands balled into fists as she willed herself not to cry. She had made the decision, she would bear the weight of the consequences. “I’d do it again, but I’m sorry.”

When he gently grabbed her chin, she opened her eyes. “I’m proud of you, Boss.”

“P-proud? I s-sunk the ship of your people, d-destroyed any chance we had at an alliance, and-“ His lips against hers silenced any worries, any fears, and beat back her guilt.

“You saved my men,” he whispered against her lips. “And I couldn’t be more thankful for it.”

Relief swamped her. He put some respectable distance between them, and turned as Krem approached. “You’re late.”

Ashrielle hugged herself, joy filling her. Bull was teasing Krem, he could only do so because of the decision she made.

“Sorry,” Krem shrugged. “A little sore from fighting off all those Vints.” He shot Ashrielle a quick grin. “Good to see you Inquisitor.”

“How are the rest of the Chargers?” She asked. “Is everyone alright?”

“We’re all just fine, thanks to you and the Chief,” Krem replied. “We had plenty of time to fall back.” The knot in her chest eased a little more. “The Chief’s even breaking open a cask of Chasind Sack Mead for the Chargers tonight.”

“Damn it, Krem!” Bull said, bending to grab his shield. “That’s the kind of thing you don’t have to mention to the Inquisitor!”

Krem adjusted the hold on his own shield. “Sorry, Chief.”

“Don’t worry, Krem.” Ashrielle giggled. “I didn’t hear a thing.” She stepped back as they practiced with their shields, this time, Krem’s feet dug in, and he knocked Bull back. Clear as day, she saw the pride on Bull’s face.

“Ah, forget it,” Bull said. “You’re doing fine.”

::

The Chargers were a loud bunch, and had taken themselves outside of Skyhold’s walls. Dalish dragged Ashrielle off the beaten path, toward their voices. The elves’ superior eyesight allowed them to move through the trees with ease, and they navigated the grass, rocks, and roots with bare feet. “Look who I found while I was getting extra mugs!” Dalish said as they came through the trees.

She nearly tripped when Dalish suddenly stopped. The Chargers sat on logs, stones, or ground around the roaring fire. “Sorry to crash your party,” Ashrielle said, pushing her hair from her face. “Dalish didn’t really ask so much as she dragged me here.”

“Consider yourself lucky,” Dalish said, passing the extra mugs to Rocky to have filled. “Not every day we’re getting Chasind Sack Mead instead of whatever stock ale the tavern holds.”

Ashrielle glanced over at the cask, and sighed. “Josephine is going to have my head on a silver platter if she finds me drunk again.”

Krem laughed. “I take it she’s still pissed that you spoke to Lord Whats-His-Face when you were all boozed up?”

“Apparently it took twenty-six letters, a bottle of Vint-9 Rowan’s Rose, and an emerald broach to smooth his feathers,” Ashrielle replied. She took the offered mug of mead from Rocky and took a sip. She tasted notes of honey and apple but the bitter aftertaste was unpleasant. “And I might tell you I mean feathers literally by the way.” She sighed. “I can hardly be blamed for thinking him a jester in a chicken suit.”

Krem covered his face as he laughed, the rest of the Chargers, even Grim joined in. The men and women of Bull’s company were happy to be alive, and still rode the high of surviving another battle.

Ashrielle walked around the fire, and stood before Bull. “Do you mind my company?”

“I’d never say no to you, Asaaranda.”

She smiled, and sat between his legs, her back resting against his chest. The group shared stories, and sang favourite tavern songs as the hours passed, darkness settling in the sky. Skinner and Stitches were having an arm wrestling competition with Rocky collecting bets.

While they were distracted, she turned to look at him. “Would you… would you have-“ she shook her head. “Never mind.” She turned her attention back to the roaring fire. “It isn’t good to dwell on ‘maybe’s’ or ‘what if’s.’”

“Would I have made the same choice you did today?” He whispered, his hands trailed over her hips, and pulled her even closer. “Is that what you wanted to ask?”

She took a deep breath, and nodded. “You said you were proud, but would you have chosen the Chargers over the Qun?” She felt the growl in his chest more than she heard it, still, she had to press on. “Would you have made yourself Tal-Vashoth?”

“It wasn’t my choice to make.”

“But if it was,” she insisted. She looked across the fire to where Skinner and Stitches clasped hands, elbows resting on a log. Krem’s hands over both. The rest of the group huddled around, waiting to see who won.

“No cheating,” Krem said sternly. “I’m looking at you, Skinner.”

“I don’t cheat!” Skinner said.

Krem shook his head. “Stabbing people isn’t allowed in an arm wrestle.”

“No one told me that rule before,” Skinner insisted.

Ashrielle looked over her shoulder, and found Bull watching his men with the fondness of a father watching his beloved children. “I’d be Tal-Va-fucking-shoth before I give them up.”

She shut her eyes, and let out a breath. He’d have made the same choice, and while she still remembered the bodies of the Qunari in the water, that knowledge made things a little easier. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’d rather have you as my Tal-Vashoth ally, than an entire army of Qunari.”

His lips pressed against her temple. “It’s worth plenty.”


	7. Swords And Shields

From the battlements, Ashrielle saw Cassandra in her usual spot. Instead of beating the hay out of training dummies, she was sitting upon a stool, reading a book. Remembering her conversation with Varric earlier in the week about finding common ground, she took the stairs. Being her clan’s First, and training with the Keeper, she always had a pile of books waiting to be read. Most of them were academic, tomes of her peoples lore. There were books though, that she’d picked up through the years which she kept in a trunk for her own pleasure; great adventures, thrilling mysteries, and a few really scary ones. Perhaps this appreciation for the written word would be their common ground.

The grass was cool under her feet as she made her way from the stairs to where Cassandra sat. The woman, so engrossed in the story that she didn’t turn around. Ashrielle kept a safe distance. “Good book?”

Cassandra jumped up, hiding the book behind her back. “Inquisitor! I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The book, I’m talking about the book!” Ashrielle moved quick, ran around Cassandra and plucked the novel out of her hands. “Swords and Shields,” she read out loud. “What’s it about?”

The Seeker stood a little straighter. “I’m sure it is nothing that would interest you.”

“Why not?” Ashrielle sat in the grass, and flipped through the pages. “Woah! This is one of Varric’s stories! What chapter is this? Do you have the beginning?”

“I would bet money on it,” Dorian said as he walked by.

“She didn’t ask you, _Tevinter_ ,” Cassandra seethed.

“I couldn’t even finish the last one you lent me.” Dorian shook his head. “Heed my warning, Ashrielle, don’t bother with that story. I feel dumber for having tried.”

Cassandra glared at the back of his head for a moment, before she sat down on the stool once again. “It’s literature,” she muttered. “Smutty literature. Whatever you do, please, don’t tell Varric.”

“Why? He’d be flattered,” Ashrielle said, looking up at the Seeker.

Cassandra groaned. “He’d never let me hear the end of it.” She rubbed the bridge of her nose. “They’re terrible… and magnificent. This one-” she tapped the book in Ashrielle’s hands, “leaves off in a cliffhanger. Varric must be working on the next one. He must be.” She leaned forward. “You! You could ask him to finish it! Command him to….” She shook her head, and stood. “Pretend you don’t know this about me.”

“Well… okay,” Ashrielle shrugged. “But _do_ you have the first one?”

::

The first chapter of Swords and Shields laid open on the table. A tankard of ale sat untouched. Ashrielle read the words slowly, her finger following under the letters as she went. She bit her lip as the two main characters first met. Blindly, she reached out for her tankard, fingers dancing until they found purchase. Still her eyes remained on the page as she barely wet her lips, and put the tankard down.

Page after glorious page, she became engrossed in the plot, enjoying the slow build. All too soon, she finished the first one. Setting it aside, she quickly grabbed the second.

She spent hours like that, in the tavern, reading while barely remembering her ale. Maryden’s songs didn’t distract her, nor did the rowdy Chargers, nor Sera’s drunken antics. The only thing that did get to her was her burning eyes. Rubbing them, she paused to look outside and see that the sun had long left the sky.

With the books in hand, she left Herald’s Rest, because she, the Herald, really did need some rest. Yawning, she made her way across the courtyard, and dragged her feet as she climbed up the stairs. The Throne room was empty for once, and she prompted one foot ahead of the other with the promise of comfort in her bedroom, and a solid five hours of sleep.

The warmth welcomed her as she climbed the last of the stairs. Someone had thrown a log on the fire, and closed the doors to the balcony. The cozy heat and crackle of the fire invited her to sit down. Just one more page, she thought to herself, settling down by the fire and using it for light.

::

Scouts and soldiers still moved around the fortress, ensuring the protection of the sleeping residents of Skyhold. Ashrielle carefully avoided them all. She slunk to the shadows, and used her extensive knowledge of the castles corridors and staircases to get to her destination unseen. How improper it would be for someone to see the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, sneaking off to a man’s room in the middle of the night? Josephine would throw a fit.

With one last glance down the battlement, she rushed from the stairs to the door, and pushed it open. Her eyes flicked around the sparse room. Armour hung with care, a few scrolls worth of paper laid on a desk with a quill and ink. The bed took up most of the space in the room, that and half a tree which stuck through the still unrepaired wall.

The moonlight gave her more detail than she would usually see in the darkness. The blanket covered most of his form, but she could make out the shape of his face, and horns, his features hidden in darkness. His eye opened, she could tell by the sudden lighter spot on his face. He shifted, and she saw his arm slip out from under the blanket. He beckoned her over with a crooked finger.

His welcome warmed her. She smiled, and shut the door, without the moonlight she could still see, just with far less detail. She practically walked on her toes, half expecting to still get caught by one of the guards. He held up the blanket for her, and she slipped under the covers, snuggling up to him immediately.

“Your feet are cold,” he muttered sleepily.

She smiled, and nuzzled against his shoulder. “How do you know it’s me at the door? Can Qunari see well in the dark?”

“Well enough.” He yawned. “Elf eyes kind of glow in the dark. Like a cats.”

“That just means you know an elf was at your door. Could have been one of the kitchen staff, Creators know you bedded them from time to time.” She suddenly sat up, and turned nimbly, straddling him, hands curled into fists on his chest. “You aren’t still playing around with them, are you?”

He moved up onto his elbow, and pulled her down, their lips crashed together as they met in the middle. He nipped her lip in gentle admonishment. “I told you before,” he said forcefully, “as long as I’m with you, there will be no one else.”

“Good,” she whispered against his lips, before claiming them once more. Quick kisses made her feverish. Greedy hands ran over his chest. “How tired are you?” she whispered breathily.

He barked out a laugh. “I’m never too tired for this.” His hands ran over her slender form, slid under her nightdress, and held her hips against his. A slow roll of his hips had her head tipping back, a gasp escaping her lips. “Although, you’re usually one for your beauty sleep.”

“Don’t tease.”

“Come on, Asaaranda,” she saw the smirk in the darkness, the mischievous glint in his one good eye. “You love it when I tease.” His hands could do the most wonderful things. Teasing, tempting, the sweetest of tortures. Her nails scored his chest as her hands clenched, desperate for purchase. He licked the line of her throat, nipped at her jaw. “Now, are you going to tell me what got you all hot and bothered?”

“Huh? What?” She blinked, realizing his hands were now at his sides, clenched in the sheets. “Why did you stop?”

“I asked a question.”

“Yes. You did.” She stared at him blankly for a moment, then cleared her throat. “Would you mind repeating it?”

He chuckled. “Usually when you sneak your way here, you just want a snuggle buddy. Not that I’m complaining. What? Did you have some hot dream? I want details.”

She pressed on his chest, but he didn’t budge, not even when she put her weight behind it. The Elf had no way to overpower the Qunari. Not that she minded. The power of him was part of the allure. “It wasn’t a dream,” she said, finding herself a little embarrassed. “Can’t a woman just want, pure and simple.”

“Absolutely. In fact, want all you want.”

She kissed him, slow, tender. “I-…” She cleared her throat. _I love you. Too soon. Isn’t it?_

“Hey.” His thumb stroked along her jaw. “You still there?”

“Yes, sorry.” She ran a finger his hard abs, enjoying the strength of him, and the security in the knowledge that he would never use that strength to hurt her. She trusted him, absolutely. “It was… a book,” she admitted. “A very… naughty book.”

He smirked. “If this is the result of you reading it, you should definitely read more.”

She sighed, remembering the cliffhanger of an ending. “Oh I would, I really would, but you see, there isn’t any more. I’m all caught up. And the last one left in this terrible cliffhanger.” She clutched her heart dramatically and fell to the side, the bed cushioning her. “I have to speak with Varric first thing!”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Bull turned to his side, still up on his elbow, horn scrapping against the headboard. He cursed- or it sounded like a curse- Ashrielle didn’t understand Qunlat. “Varric writes dirty novels?”

“Romance, Bull, they’re romance.”

“Oh, I’ll romance you,” he teased, pulling her close.

Her little giggle cut to a gasp of pleasure. Romance, _sure._

::

Patterns of light danced upon the floor. Ashrielle woke up with a little smile on her face, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and tried to clear the fog from her mind. _A tree. In my room? No. Bull’s room. Daylight!_ She jolted up. “Flame-spitting nuggalopes!”

Bull opened his eye. “What did you just say?”

“Where is my nightdress?” She shoved aside the blanket and moved around the room. Free of clutter, she found it with ease. Both pieces of it. In a moment of anger, she stomped her foot. “Andraste’s blessed breasts!”

Now Bull laughed. “ _What_ did you just say?”

“Sera said it.” She shrugged. “I think it fits, right?”

“No, I think it’s for good things, and you don’t seem particularly pleased,” he said lazily.

Ashrielle huffed out a breath. “Doesn’t matter. My nightdress is ruined, the sun is up, there are going to be people around.” She paced trying to wear out the gnawing nervousness in her gut. “I’ll have to wear one of your shirts, and everyone is going to talk, and Josephine is going to give me an hour long lecture about how improper it is for dignified ladies to be-“ Bull silenced her with a crushing kiss. She hadn’t even noticed him get out of bed. Delightfully distracted, she melted against him.

“Relax.” His hands gently squeezed her shoulders. “I’ll go to your room, and grab your stuff.”

She pouted. “Someone will see you.”

“Then I’ll get Cole to grab your stuff.”

She blinked owlishly. “Yeah. I guess that could work. But when I leave here-“

“We will leave together, and continue talking about battle strategy.”

“Right. We were… strategizing.” She smiled, just a little. “You know, no one is going to believe that.”

“Well, that’s what Josephine is for. Right?” He frowned, and turned away from her. In that moment, she had a horrible feeling she’d done something wrong.

“Bull?”

“What?” he snapped, his back still turned to her as he started to dress.

“Did I…” she chewed on her bottom lip, and wringed her hands. “Did I say something wrong? Or do something wrong?”

He paused, and she could see the tension in his back, like he had his weapon in hand and he readied to strike. “No,” he said finally, his even-manner returning. Fully dressed, he approached her, and she tried to read him, but the former Ben-Hassrath gave nothing away. His fingers threaded through her hair, got tangled in the knots caused by moving around too much in bed. “No, you did nothing wrong, Asaaranda. I’ll go speak to Cole.”

He left her there, and she hugged herself. Despite his words of comfort, she fretted.

::

“You were you,” Cole said as he walked along-side her. “But now you’re the Inquisitor.”

“Excuse me?” Ashrielle glanced over at him, he’d continued walking with her when Iron Bull made a quick escape to spar with his Chargers. “What do you mean, Cole?”

“I mean what I said.”

She sighed. “But I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Well. I brought you the Inquisitor clothes. They make you the Inquisitor. Alone, with The Iron Bull, you’re just you.”

She pulled at the constricting collar of the horrible, finely-tailored outfit. “You’re right, these aren’t my kind of clothes.”

“It’s not clothes.” Cole adjusted his hat. “It’s you liking to be you. Low collar, no sleeves, feel the wind and the rain. You walk with your feet bare when you can. It feels like freedom. You miss it.”

She ran her finger between the collar of the shirt and her neck. “Being the Inquisitor is confining.”

“And you don’t like being confined.”

She bristled. “Cole, why don’t you go and check on some of the patients in the infirmary.”

His shoulders dropped. “I tightened the knot,” he said, distress tightening his voice. “Let me try again.”

She pinched the brim of his hat and pulled it over his face. “You didn’t hurt me, silly.”

“I did, I reminded, but I didn’t fix.” When he lost the battle to right his hat, he just grabbed it and pulled it down away from his face. His white-blonde hair practically glowed in the sunlight. “I want to help.”

“Oh, ma falon, you do help me. Every single day. We all have hurts, and that’s okay. This hurt is old, and it has healed, just… sometimes I pick at it, and it hurts for a little while, but I spend some time with friends, and they heal me once more, and I forget again.”

Cole considered this for a moment, and then he put his hat over her head. “So I’m with you when I’m not.”

She beamed, and pulled him into a hug. “See Cole, you helped.”

::

“Varric!” Ashrielle walked over and took a stool across from where he was writing in the Throne Room. “So, what are you writing?”

“A letter, but it can wait,” he flipped it over, and cast her a smile. “Do you need me for something, Snuggles?”

“I had a question that only you can answer.”

“Only me, huh? Alright, I admit it, I’m curious.” Varric tipped his chair back slightly. “What’s the question?”

“When are you going to be finished the next issue of Swords and Shields.” She leaned forward, and had to push the Cole’s hat back to see. _How does he fight in this thing?_ “It has to be soon, you’ve been working on it, right?”

His eyebrows furrowed, and he stared a moment before he laughed. “Oh, this is great.” He leaned toward her, and lowered his voice. “You read Swords and Shields?” She nodded. “The romance series?” She nodded again. “The one with all the…”

“Sex scenes, yes.”

“Maker’s breath.” Varric had a smile on, even if he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You look so innocent, doesn’t seem right to talk about this with you.”

“I kill Red Templars and demons. I’ve battled Corypheus. I close rifts. I lead the Inquisition.” She shook her head in disbelief. “And you think I’m too _innocent_ to know anything about sexual relations?”

He chuckled. “Well, when you put it that way.”

“So,” she pressed.

“So what?”

“Are you writing it?” she threw her hands up, exasperated. “Please tell me you are! I stayed up half the night reading them to catch up to where Cas-“ She froze, and avoided eye contact.

“Oh, do finish your sentence,” Varric teased, his smile growing.

“Ah… um… casserole?”

Varric burst out laughing. “Snuggles, you are hands down the worst liar I’ve ever met. And I’ve seen Cullen play Wicked Grace. He can’t bluff worth a nug.”

She sighed. “Okay, okay, Cassandra loaned me her copies. I’m trying to find common ground, like you suggested, and I’m just as in love with them as she is, and so I need you to write the next one for us! Please, Lethallin!”

“Oh, this is too good. Cassandra, is in love with Swords and Shields.” He rubbed his hands together. “We are talking about the same Cassandra right? Tall, Seeker. Likes to stab things.”

She frowned. “I don’t know that she _likes_ to stab things, I do know she’s really good at it.”

“Alright, I’ll do it, on one condition.”

She clapped her hands together. “Name it!”

“I have to be there when you give it to Cassandra.”

She bit her lip, but nodded, Cole’s hat slipping and covering her eyes. With one finger, she pushed the hat back up. “Okay, Varric, we have a deal.”

::

“Seeker.”

Cassandra turned away from the training dummy and sheathed her sword. “Varric.”

“He wrote the book!” Ashrielle blurted, unable to contain her happiness.

Cassandra’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“Swords and Shields,” Varric replied, holding the fresh copy up. “I hear you’re a fan.”

Dark eyes turned on Ashrielle. “This is your doing.”

“I may have accidentally mentioned you when I was asking him to write it.” Ashrielle took a step back nervously. “I didn’t mean to. But he wrote it, isn’t that the important part?”

“Look, if you aren’t interested, you’re not interested,” Varric shrugged. “It still needs editing anyhow. Come on, Snuggles. I’m sure you want to find out what happens to the Knight-Captain after the last chapter.”

“Wait!” Cassandra took one step forward, unable to contain her curiosity. “Nothing should happen to her! She was falsely accused!”

“Well it turns out the guardsman-“

“No!” Ashrielle quickly covered her ears.

“Don’t _tell_ me!” Cassandra ordered, stomping over and snatching the book out of his hand.

“This is the part where you thank the Inquisitor,” Varric advised as he turned to leave. “I don’t normally I don’t give sneak peeks, after all.”

Cassandra looked down at the cover, and put her and over it. Taking a deep breath, she turned to the Inquisitor. “Thank you.”

Ashrielle hugged her own copy to her chest. “This was really all Varric. I just persuaded him to finish it.”

“I hope I have time to read the first part,” Cassandra said.

“Well, I’m going to hide up in the battlements in hopes that Josie won’t find me and make me do Inquisitorial stuff.”

Cassandra let out a rusty laugh. “Hiding sounds like a good plan.”

::

“That. Was. Amazing!” Ashrielle hugged the book and let herself fall back onto the stone.

Cassandra smirked, and slowly closed the back of the book. “It was perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

“And that scene with the-“ Ashrielle paused, hearing approaching footsteps. Instead of saying it implicitly, she wiggled her eyebrows. “You know?”

The Seeker placed her hand over her heart. “I know.”

Ashrielle sat up quickly. “And that final battle-“

“And she protected her true love-“

“And the kiss they shared!”

Both women sighed. Cassandra suddenly sat straighter, and her eyes narrowed. Ashrielle followed the Seeker’s gaze, and looked over her shoulder to see Cullen with clipboard in hand, slowly taking steps backward. “Running away, Commander?” she teased.

“Strategic retreat,” he replied. “I told you, I have sisters. Soon there will be giggling-“

“I do _not_ giggle!” Cassandra snapped, her chin up trying to appear as dignified and intimidating as possible for someone sitting against a wall with a romance novel in hand.

He cleared his throat, and rubbed the back of his neck. “No, of course not. My apologies.” He glanced up. “Ashrielle, Bull wants you to meet him on the eastern battlements.” He nodded, having completed his duty. “Look at the time. I have to see Josephine. Good day, ladies.”

Ashrielle did giggle, and Cassandra’s attention shifted back to her while Cullen made his escape. She shrugged. “Our fearless Commander, running from giggling ladies.”

Even Cassandra had to bark out a quick laugh. She ran her hand over the novel once again. “Thank you for this, I do appreciate you asking Varric. Even if he knows I’m a fan now.”

“Of course,” Ashrielle stood, she looked across, and could make out the shape of The Iron Bull on the other side. She chewed on her bottom lip. “I think I said something that put me on uneven ground with Bull, but I’m not sure what it was.” She looked over her shoulder at Cassandra, now back on her feet. “What do you think I should do?”

“I don’t think I’m one to be asking for relationship advice,” Cassandra said. Apparently, the time for smiles and jokes had passed, her serious demeanor had returned.

“Well, in that case, what do you think the Knight-Commander would do?”

“She would make speak her mind.” Cassandra nodded. “Trust in the truth.”

Ashrielle didn’t think that helped her situation any, being a terrible liar, she tended to tell the truth no matter what anyway. Still, she nodded, thanked Cassandra, and made her way around the battlements. Each step brought her closer to Bull, and increased her anxiety.

“Hey, Boss,” he greeted casually.

“Bull.” She took a deep breath. “About this morning-“ The ‘whoosh’ of air passed by her ear, and made her jump. A knife struck Bull, and she screamed before her wits could slap sense into her. They were under attack. She didn’t have her staff. Still she turned at the approaching men wearing Inquisition scout uniforms. They’d hurt Bull. They became nothing but targets. She quickly snapped her hands at her sides, pinpricks of pain stabbed and shifted along her skin as the electric current snapped from finger to finger, it hurt, but it was nothing like what it would do to them.

The attackers moved simultaneously, Bull charged at one, and threw him over the battlement, while Ashrielle dodged a dagger and slammed her hands into the man’s chest, keeping them there as the current surged, pushing him back against the door. The man’s body spasmed, and his eyes rolled back in his head.

“Asaaranda, that’s enough,” Bull’s gentle voice pulled her from her violent outburst.

She jerked her hands back to her sides, and took three quick steps back as the body fell. “Oh, Creators,” she whispered, staring at the lifeless body, and then to her hands.

“You’re alright,” Bull said, his big hands engulfing hers. “Relax.”

“They were in scout uniforms. Leliana-“

“They weren’t real scouts. They were assassins.”

“Assassins!” She looked up at him. “They could have poisoned the knife!”

“Oh they did!” Seeing the sheer panic on her face made him regret admitting it. “Calm down. I’ve been dousing myself with the antidote.” He figured it better not to mention the effects the poison would be having on him if he hadn’t been.

She took a deep breath, and held it in until her lungs burned. The panic started to subside and she could think a little clearer. “You knew… you knew they were coming.”

“Yeah, a change in guard rotation tipped me off. Figured I could use a little back up, someone who wouldn’t seem out of place standing around with me. When I saw Cullen earlier, I asked him to pass the message along.” He frowned, his hands tightening around hers. “Didn’t think they’d nearly cut your ear off attacking me though. Bastards.”

“I hoped the Ben-Hassrath would let you go,” she whispered. She knew just how good an agent Iron Bull had been to them, had thought it might buy him a little leeway.

“They did. This wasn’t a hit, it was a formality.” He frowned. “They’re making sure that I know I’m Tal-Vashoth.” Shaking his head, he stepped away and looked over the battlement where he’d thrown the assassin. “Tal-Va-Fucking-Shoth.”

Her dainty hands were on his back, and he remained perfectly still. Her hair tickled his skin as her forehead rested between his shoulders. “You’re not Tal-Vashoth. You no longer follow the Qun. You’re The Iron Bull. Mercenary captain of the Inquisition, Leader of the Chargers. You’re a good man.”

“I don’t think you understand what it means to be Tal-Vashoth, what it’s like to be a Qunari away from the Qun.” He felt her draw away, and missed her immediately.

"’I deny the Qun.’ Then he threw himself upon the guard's blade,” she recited from memory part of an interview of a Qunari worker in Kirkwall. Bull shifted, and looked over his shoulder at her. She frowned. “You’re afraid because so many of the Tal-Vashoth become savage.” She paused, searching for something on his face to let her know if she was on the right path. She saw nothing, but remembering Cassandra’s words, she pressed forward. “You won’t.”

They stared at each other for a long moment. He broke first. “How do you know?”

“They leave Seheron and turn their backs on the Qun. They have no family, no home, they band with other people who are just as desperate as they are. That’s not you. You have a family, you have the Chargers. You have a home, for Skyhold is home to the Inquisition. The people here, we’re not desperate, we’re brave, and we’re strong, and we love one another, and so you will never be what they are. You are not Tal-Vashoth, you are not savage. You are The Iron Bull, and I love you.”

She didn’t realize she’d started crying until he cradled her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing her tears away. “Kadan,” he whispered. Before she could ask what it meant, his kiss chased the question away.


	8. Snuggles And Waffles

“Hey, Snuggles, come here a minute,” Varric waved her over, and she politely left her conversation with Scout Harding to join him. “There is someone I want you to meet.”

“Oh, okay.” She followed him up the stairs, and she saw an unfamiliar woman standing on the battlements, her back to them. The armour had taken money, and an expert hand, the details and tailoring showed a great deal of skill. Twin daggers were strapped to her back, a braid of dark hair flowing down the middle. “Oh Creators,” she whispered in awe. She crouched slightly. “Is that who I think it is? Is that Marian Hawke? The Champion of Kirkwall?”

The woman turned and gave a lop-sided smile, a scar through her lips. “That I am. Although, I don’t use the title much anymore.”

Ashrielle stood with her mouth open, completely star-struck. She’d read The Tale of the Champion, heard further tales from Varric. The woman had shaped an entire city, her decisions were still felt today.

Varric cleared his throat loudly, and elbowed Ashrielle in the hip, which prompted her into action. “Oh, right, hello.” She managed a shy wave. “Welcome to Skyhold.”

Marian grinned. “You weren’t kidding, Varric, she is adorable.”

“I don’t usually exaggerate.” Both women turned to stare at him, and he put his hands in the air. “Okay, I’m prone to exaggeration, but it was unnecessary in this case. Anyway, I figured you might have some friendly advice for Snuggles here about Corypheus.”

Marian grinned. “Snuggles, huh?”

“Don’t tease,” Varric warned. “I still call you Waffles.”

Marian groaned and covered her face with her hands. “I thought you forgot about that.”

“I will never forget that.”

“Forget what?” Ashrielle asked. “Why does he call you Waffles?”

“Unimportant,” Marian dismissed with a wave of her hand. “Corypheus. He must be stopped. I thought I killed him.” She walked to the edge, looked down at the people of Skyhold. “In my home at Kirkwall, I had a balcony with a spectacular view of the city, but after a while, all I could see was people who depended upon me.” She glanced over. “I don’t envy your position. You’ve got half of Thedas watching your every move.”

Ashrielle stood beside Marian, and looked down. Scout Harding appeared to be recanting some story with exaggerated hand motions to Krem, who was bent at the waist, hands on his knees, his laughter reaching her ears. Solas was walking up the steps beside Cole, headed for the Throne Room. Cassandra and Cullen were working recruits. Her people, everyone she could see, and everyone she couldn’t. They depended upon her. “Does it get any easier?”

Marian sighed. “I’ll let you know.” She stood up straight. “In any case, I’ll do what I can to help you.”

::

Late in the evening, the last stragglers in Herald’s Rest sat at one long table. Hawke, Bull, Krem, Skinner, Rocky, Grim, Harding, Lysette, Dorian, Sera, and Ashrielle were all listening Varric’s wild story. “And then we lit a small fire-“

“No, no!” Hawke shook her head. “That isn’t what happened!”

Varric scoffed. “Artistic licence!”

“Oh, because the barrel full of nugs released into the Blooming Rose wasn’t funny enough.”

“Nugs!” Dorian shouted, his head tipped back as he laughed. “You didn’t!”

Bull’s fist connected with the table. “You’re shitting us!”

“I am not! We really did release nugs in there. A _full barrel_ of ‘em,” Hawke insisted. “People started screaming, the blood mages we were after came running out-“

“So did the hookers-“

“Most of them only half dressed-“

Varric snorted. “If that! Do you remember the dwarven man?”

Marian groaned. “I’ve spent my life trying to forget him, thank you very much.”

“Not into dwarves?” Varric teased.

She shrugged and put on a playful smile. “You’re the only one I’ve ever found attractive. It must be the chest hair.” She grabbed her tankard and managed to get her feet propped up on the table, even if she had to lean her chair on two legs to do so. “We won’t tell Anders that though, you know how he gets. He just _… blows up_.”

Varric looked up and shook his head. “That was bad.”

Marian snorted. “Too soon?”

“The man blew up a Chantry and pushed Templars and Mages into war.” He hit his tankard against hers. “I think it’ll always be too soon.”

“Ah, well, you win some, you lose some.” And in that moment, she lost her balance. The chair hit the floor, and Marian’s tankard spilled all over the floor. The rogue laid breathless, staring up at the ceiling.

Varric leaned over. “Waffles? You good?”

She held up a thumb as she finally was able to suck in a breath.

::

The following morning, Ashrielle kept to the shadows the best she knew how. She maintained a good distance from Hawke, and avoided both Cassandra and Varric since interrupting their little blow-out. In moments where Hawke thought she was alone, she’d falter. She’d sit on the ground and stare blankly. She’d hit her armoured fist against a wall. Sometimes, she’d talk to herself, or to someone who simply wasn’t there anymore. Her smiles were sad, and haunted.

Frequently, the Champion of Kirkwall would stop to talk with someone. She shared jokes with Scout Harding. She accepted the cup of tea from Josephine with a kind smile and genuine thanks. In the tavern, she would shout out good-natured replies to those who called to her. A young woman stopped her, grabbed her hands, and praised her. Marian Hawke took this with a smile, praised the woman’s own strength, wished her well, and continued looking more burdened than before.

The more Ashrielle saw, the more she feared. She kept back on the battlements, waited a few moments in the musty tower before pulling open the door. She froze. Hawke stood on the other side, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. “How long have you been following me?”

Ashrielle swallowed hard, and found no reason to attempt lying- especially when the woman would see right through it. “All morning.”

Hawke huffed out an annoyed breath. “Why?”

“Something Cole said to me last night while walking me back to my room.”

“The spirit-demon thing?”

Ashrielle prickled at the ‘demon’ mention. “He’s a spirit of compassion.” Her hardened voice left no room for argument on the subject.

Hawke frowned. “And what did he say of me?”

“She tries to be bright to fill the hollow.”

Hawke’s face scrunched up. “What does that even mean?”

“I think it was in reference to how you were in the tavern.” Ashrielle wrung her hands. “Bright, happy, full of energy. You want to be that, that beacon of hope, but it drains you… you’re empty… hollow.” She walked to the edge and looked over. “I wanted to see if he was right.”

Hawke stood beside her. “The things I’ve seen- the things I’ve done.” She shook her head. “It takes a toll.” Dark eyes were full of compassion. “You’re worried I’m the mirror of your future.”

“I didn’t say that,” Ashrielle said, not wanting to offend the woman.

“You don’t have to.” She braced her hands on the wall, and looked over at the Inquisitor. “Do you want some advice?” Ashrielle quickly nodded. “Find someone, someone who makes getting up in the morning worth it. Hold onto them. Protect them the best you can. That’s your lifeline. If I didn’t have Anders…” She shook her head. “You know, sometimes I wonder if the Wardens hadn’t made him give up his cat, if he would have still went all mad-justice on the Chantry. Sometimes, I think Ser Pounce-A-Lot was his lifeline.”

“You’re trying to be funny again.”

Hawke’s chin rose. “I like to think I’m succeeding, thank you very much.”

The Champion and the Inquisitor stood side by side for a long moment. “I think I already found him,” Ashrielle’s soft whisper broke the silence. “My lifeline.”

“Good, I hope he’s strong enough to help you with everything that will be thrown your way.”

Her ex-Ben-Hassrath, Qunari warrior? “Yeah,” she said with a grin. “He’s strong enough.”


	9. Trebuchets and Nugs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an extended chapter. [Which really just means this contains the smut that isn't really allowed on FF.net]

It was silly to feel nervous. The worst Cullen could say was ‘no.’ Still, she straightened up, took a deep breath, and stared down the door, much like the seconds before she entered battle. Instead of reaching for her staff, she knocked on the office door loudly, and then poked her head in.

Cullen had a book in hand, but turned to her. “Inquisitor,” he greeted. Marking his spot with a ribbon, he set the book on his desk. “Is there something you require?”

She wrung her fingers. “Well, I was thinking about something, but I need to clear it with you.”

His arms crossed, and an eyebrow raised. “Should I gather Liliana and Josephine?”

“No, no, it’s nothing like that.” She took a deep breath. “The… um, trebuchets, from Haven, they’ve been delivered.”

“Yes, and the one has already been repaired, the other is still being worked on.”

“Right.” She nodded, and fussed with the collar on the shirt Josephine insisted she wore around Skyhold. “I would like to use one.”

He had a half smile. “Whatever for?”

The speech that The Iron Bull and Krem had made her recite came to her tongue, she held her hands behind her back as she paced. “For a training exercise. There are many young, and green recruits who have never used one. It is imperative that everyone knows how to safely prepare, and launch nugs into the foray in order to further the Inquisition’s…” she paused. “Wait. Stones, to launch stones, I really meant stones, not nugs.” She giggled nervously. “Who would launch nugs?”

Cullen sighed, his hands over the pommel of his sword. “Did The Iron Bull put you up to this?”

She gave her head a quick shake. “No.” Cullen merely raised an eyebrow; her resolve waved. “No?”

Cullen half-smiled. “The trebuchets are an expensive piece of military equipment. They were crucial to the defense of Haven, and they serve the same purpose for Skyhold. I’m afraid I have to say no, Inquisitor.” He shook his head as his curiosity got the best of him. “Why would you want to launch nugs, anyway?”

“Not real nugs, that would be cruel,” Ashrielle specified. “They’re stuffed nugs. It’s for morale. Please Cullen. We’re not going to damage the trebuchets.” She pushed her hair back, the sick twist in her gut returning. “We leave for Adamant tomorrow, and-“ her voice cracked, pitching high, and she took a second to compose herself. “And there will be soldiers, and scouts, and the Chargers, and… and… I can’t guarantee who will be coming back. I can’t say for certain any of us will. The least I can do, is create a happy memory.”

“Well,” Cullen’s voice deepened, choked with sudden emotion. “I suppose a training exercise with the trebuchets before battle couldn’t hurt. And if it happens to be loaded with winged nugs, so be it.”

::

Outside the walls of Skyhold, where the trebuchets stood waiting, a large group of had gathered. Varric took the bets of soldiers, scouts, mercenaries, and staff alike. Commander Cullen had already given a brief lesson in how to properly use the trebuchet. He stood with Cassandra, who shook her head, and gave a head jerk toward Bull. Cullen grinned, but shrugged.

“Did you use the speech?” Iron Bull asked, turning his attention from the Commander, to the Inquisitor.

“Yes, but I botched it. Didn’t matter, I managed to talk Cullen into it anyway,” Ashrielle replied. She picked up one of the five nugs of different colours. It was done in patches of velveteen, ring velvet, and darkened samite. “Varric,” she called out, lifting the stuffed nug into the air. “Two sovereigns on this one!”

“What a bet! Anyone care to match?” Varric dared the crowd, which continued to grow.

Ashrielle leaned into Bull. “Which one will you bet on?”

“Already put my bet on the yellow one.”

Noticing Marian Hawke in the crowd, Ashrielle waved her over. “How are you feeling?” she asked, considering the amount they’d all consumed in the tavern as they recited old stories.

“Not bad at all. Your kitchen staff can sure whip up a heaping pile of waffles. Great for absorbing alcohol, let me tell you.” Marian marvelled at the winged nugs being loaded. “You do like to keep things interesting.”

“I try,” Ashrielle replied. “Are you ready for Adamant?”

“Packed and ready,” Marian replied. “Going to spend the night in the woods. Skyhold is lovely, but I’ll sleep better there.”

Ashrielle understood what was said without the words. She too would sleep better in the arms of her lover. Of course, Anders wouldn’t be walking into Skyhold to be with his love, regardless of how much either of them might wish it. Too many people knew what happened in Kirkwall, and he would not be forgiven.

“Alright, you crazy kids! Bets are closed, unless you want in Seeker?” Varric’s booming voice drawing her attention, and that of everyone else around. “Of course, if you’re afraid to lose a little coin…”

Cassandra frowned, but with the eyes of her fellow soldiers on her, she caved. “One sovereign.”

Varric smirked at the win. “On which nug?”

“Whichever one the Inquisitor bet on,” Cassandra replied, her chin raised. “I trust her judgement.”

Varric laughed. “She’s the one launching nugs into the Frostbacks! Her judgement might be clouded.”

“Hey! This is a great idea,” Ashrielle argued, before she turned to Cullen and raised her staff. “Commander! LAUNCH THE NUGS!”

::

“Patches won. Such a good nug,” Ashrielle hugged the stuffed toy, which had survived the flight. One had ripped on a thorn bush, and another drowned in a mud puddle. Patches however, came out victorious.

The evening had been spent with the walls of Skyhold echoing laughter, money exchanged hands, people recanted the story of the nugs launching from the trebuchet. Torches and fire pits were lit as darkness fell. Ashrielle walked side by side with The Iron Bull as they left their friends to drinks in Herald’s Rest.

Although there were a few visiting nobles, they weren’t in the Throne Room when they walked through. The entire space, empty. She glanced around, expecting to see someone, anyone around. She stopped entirely, fear’s fingers clenching around her. Despite being able to hear voices from outside, the emptiness chilled her to the bone.

Bull waited, but she remained statuesque. “What’s wrong?”

“If we fail, Skyhold will be silent,” she whispered. “Empty.” She looked down at the nug in her hands, ran her fingers over the careful stitching. Shaking her head, she willed the thoughts to leave, but the ache in her chest persisted.

Large hands grabbed her shoulders. “We won’t fail.”

“There will be casualties. This is someone’s last night. It could be mine,” she said, because it was so much easier than saying _‘it could be yours.’_ The thought of him not returning was utterly unbearable.

“You’re coming back,” he insisted. “Come on. You should get a good night’s sleep.”

She nodded and trailed behind him, her eyes on Krem’s stitching. At her door, she took one last look down the hall, the emptiness, took a moment to listen to the voices of the residents of Skyhold. _It isn’t me I’m worried about._ Pressing her lips together, she followed Bull, and shut the door to her quarters.

Deep breaths to combat her panic did their job, kept her steady. “Bull,” she said as they reached the top of the stairs. “I don’t want a good night’s sleep.” She looked up at him, open with her vulnerability knowing whatever she said, or whatever she did would be accepted within these walls. He would take care, keep her secrets. His hands on her body could make her forget every wound she’d ever had. The pleasure he could bring could put an end to these incessant worries. Rarely was she so forward, he simply seemed to know when and what she needed, and she was more than willing to follow his lead. Tonight, she wouldn’t make do with being tucked into bed, and left to sleep before they set off in the morning to Adamant, before battle, and the weight of lives balanced on her scales.

Her hands flattened on his chest, the faint light of her mark glowed around the edges of her left hand. The warmth of him pleased her, and not for the first time was she thankful he rarely bothered with a shirt. “Take me to bed, Bull, but don’t ask me to sleep.” Her lips left feather light kisses upon his chest. “I want to feel you, I _need_ to feel you.”

“Shit, Asaaranda.” The words were little more than a groan.

His hands covered hers, and before she realized he had both hands pinned in one hand, they were above her head. His lips were quick, sure, skilled upon her own. She’d shared innocent kisses with a boy in another clan during her youth, but no gestures of affection, or sweet handholding prepared her for her being with Bull. “Tie me up,” she demanded, nearly breathless with the desperate need. “Take me. _Please_ , take me.”

The moment her hands were released, instinct had her grabbing his broad shoulders. When he lifted her, her legs tightened around his hips, ankles locked, as she ground against his hard length. Kisses were quick, talentless with how essential the other had become. Skill gave way to need. Skin craved skin. She clawed at his harness and found herself thrown like a sack onto the bed. His hands were big, but clever, he loosened the ties of her breaches just enough, and roughly pulled from her hips, small clothes going with them.

She rocked up onto her knees, and at the edge of the mattress she deftly unbuckled the harness, and pushed it away. They fought with each other’s clothing, exploring each newly exposed expanse of skin with lips, tongue, teeth, and hands until nothing separated them.

His large hand pressed against her lower back, which arched marvellously, assisting her to balance. His tongue swirled around her nipple, over the swell of her breast, to her collarbone where his teeth nipped her lightly. “Creators,” she breathed, nails digging into his shoulders.

“They have nothing to do with this,” he murmured against her soft, pale skin. He kissed the freckles that looked like the map of the constellation Bellitanus her shoulder. “In this room, it’s just me, and you.”

Another kiss and she whimpered, became pliable. She reacted on instinct when he pressed against her, and she dropped back down on the bed, laying on her back, pulling him with her. A brush of breath, a trail of kisses showing her affection. She tried to reach up to touch, only to find her hands bound together. “How do you do that?” she asked.

The smirk had just a touch of arrogance. “You’re easily distracted, Kadan.” He pulled her leg and maneuvered her so she laid on her stomach. The strap of Highever Weave that bound her hands was then tied to the decorative rail on the headboard.

“Um, Bull?” she questioned, although her thoughts scrambled as his hand caressed over her ass and down her leg.

“Yes?”

She looked over her shoulder at him, puzzled. “I’m the wrong way.”

“No,” he said. Her lack of experience in the bedroom never failed to excite him. “You’re not.”

She waited it out, his hands massaging her legs, and she hadn’t even known how tense and sore they’d become. His thumbs ran up her calf and she let out a moan. He was hardly touching her in what most would call a sexual manner, it was somehow more medical, and he maintained a professional distance. Still, she caught herself rubbing her legs together, trying to find some way to create the friction she required.

It wasn’t until he pulled on her right ankle that she even realized he’d managed to tie her left one to the bedpost. She gave both feet a jerk, instinct demanding she have at least one limb free to use, preferably her hands where she could conjure some measure of magic. Her arousal held a hint of danger, of fear, and somehow it delighted her all the more.

His warmth, and weight behind her, a strip of fabric tied around her eyes. Hands soothing down her neck, parting her blonde curls. “What’s the word, Asaaranda?”

“Katoh,” she whispered.

“Good girl.” His lips joined his hands in a gentle caress of her flank. “You’re bruised.”

“Training exercise,” she explained. “It’s fine.”

His tongue swiped where she knew the bruise was, and she struggled against the bindings, not out of pain, but out of pleasure. The straps of fabric had some give to them, a few inches in any direction. She squirmed under his slow, methodical ministrations. Being blinded by the scrap of fabric over her eyes made her completely focus on the feel of him. Soft caresses at odds with calloused palms. She listened for his short breaths, his heavy groan, and that deep voice that made her that would deliver both orders and praise.

Hands roamed over her body. He knew the places that would drive her mad with pleasure. Kisses to the back of her neck would cause her to buck her hips. Rubbing his thumbs into her lower back would have her letting out the softest of sighs as she became boneless. Touching her feet would make her giggle. His favourite reaction though, had to be whenever he touched her ears. In normal settings, like if he ran his finger over her ear in the bar, she’d become compliant and as happy as a Mabari getting a good scratch. When she was already aroused however, they became one of those spots that would make her moan.

He kissed his way up her spine, and she arched into his touch. A few opened mouthed kisses on her neck had her rocking her ass toward him, trying to find some relief. Instead of giving it to her, he nipped the point of her ear, her entire body tightened, limbs strained against the bindings.

“Bull-“ the rest of her plea fell off her tongue as he licked the curve of her ear. The broken cry that left her lips was short as fingernails dug into her own flesh leaving crescent marks on her palms. “Stop teasing!”

He grinned, kissing the freckles on her shoulder as his hand slid over the smooth skin of her back, down, further, fingers finding her wet, her hips shot back as far as they could trying to get him closer. A low chuckle rumbled in his throat. “Someone’s eager.” His words cast hot breath over her ear and she whimpered.

She was edgy, but excited. Despite the brief massage, every part of her body had become tense during the wait. The need like the sharp point of a sword, was all she could think about. Nothing beyond him and this moment existed.

His finger pressed against her entrance, his tongue skimming over the shell of her ear once more. Drenched, she was fucking drenched, and he struggled for control as her low moan echoed off the stone walls. His forehead rested between her shoulders. She wasn’t the only one worried about Adamant. The thought of her injured or killed in battl- no, he wouldn’t even think it. Not here. Not now. Not while she was tied, moaning, and so damn wet around him.

He broke from his thoughts as her hips shot back. He knew it had to take some work given the bindings, admired her for the attempt, especially since usually he wanted to be the one to bring her pleasure, and took absolute control. She paused, like she expected the reprimand. When she didn’t get it, she pulled her hips up, just slightly, resting on her chest, her head turned; with a glance back, he saw her up on her toes to get the extra distance. “Ride my finger like it’s my cock, Ashrielle,” he whispered in her ear, tongue rolling over her name. “Show me how much you want it.”

He sat back to watch. In his experience, Elves were the tightest little packages, more flexible than their Human, Dwarf, and Qunari counterparts. Ashrielle showed what she could do with only the slightest bit of wiggle room, hips moving with fervour, panting breaths, and that desperate pitched sound she occasionally made in bed that drove him mad.

“Please, Bull. I want it, I want it, I want it.” The mantra set him on edge and he pulled from her, her hips instantly seized and she hissed.

“Relax. I’m going to give you what you want.” He laid over her, keeping as much of his weight off her as possible. He thought of fucking her hard and fast, leaving her sleepy and boneless at the end of it so she’d have a good rest before… Adamant. The battle loomed overhead, and suddenly it was important to give her _more_.

He entered with slow, controlled thrusts of his hips. Gentle, but no less pleasurable. Her body beneath him arched, a sensual display of power and grace. Soft, alabaster skin, relatively unmarred for someone who had been in so many battles. The profile of her face; lips parted, her tongue ran over her upper lip, and he thrust at the sight. Her long blond curls splayed over the pillow, the red blindfold a stark contrast to her skin, nostrils flared as he ground against her.

“Ma lath,” her voice pitched as her fingers dug into the pillow.

Kisses peppered over her freckles. He sucked where her shoulder met her neck, and her hips shot back. He paid attention to every little hotspot on her body, playing her like Maryden played a tune. Her hands shot out gripping the rails on the headboard as her back arched. Careful to maintain the same steady rhythm, even as it nearly drove him mad, he muttered promises to keep her safe, that everything would be okay, things he had no business promising; but in that moment he’d promise her the stars and the moon.

Her body tensed from her fingertips to her toes, and he felt her quiver. “Please, please,” she muttered, nearly incoherent. He maintained the same slow, steady rhythm. The frustrated whine that hissed through her clenched teeth snapped his control.

Hard and fast he drove her past the brink. The wordless cry slipped from her lips, and lightening crackled as it arched from her fingertips to leave small burn marks on the wood. “I can’t,” she panted. “No more.”

But those words were not ‘katoh’ and he remained utterly relentless. Sparks shot from her fingers unbidden. Delirious with pleasure she writhed beneath him, burning with arousal, slick with sweat. Her self-control went out the window, and he could practically feel the swirl of magic of his little _bas saarebas_ when the lightening crackled off her fingers, giving an odd purple tinged glow, and burned more little marks on the wood.

The accidental display of power made him throb, his thrusts becoming erratic and frenzied. Her moans drew out until it was a long, wordless cry. He bit down on the back of her neck, the primal need to mark her as his own hitting him as his pleasure took over.

It took a few minutes to get his heart-rate to a point where he could think clearly again. The red mark on the back of her neck was already starting to turn purple. He pulled the fabric of the blindfold and set it on the nightstand. Her hooded eyes didn’t appear focussed on anything. He kissed the mark he’d made. “You okay?”

Her chest moved with each breath, eventually, she managed a small nod. He quickly cared for her, removing the binds, and running the damp sponge over her body. A sleepy smile formed on her face. In that moment between the wakeful world, and the fade, she was completely at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bas- used for someone who is non-qunari  
> Saarebas- literally 'dangerous thing' also used for 'mage'


	10. Post-Adamant

When given the choice between a sweet roll, or a scone, Ashrielle stared blankly. Josephine’s office was a warm oasis, free from commands, and battle. It should have been a relaxing moment between friends, instead the quiet unnerved the mage, and left her jumping at the shadows created by the flickering fire.

“How about both?” Josephine said kindly, worry in her warm honey eyes.

 _Both?_ The sweet roll, and scone both sit upon her plate next to the tea. _Oh, right._

“You must be tired from your ride from Adamant.”

 _Adamant. The fade._ Her heart clenched, and her stomach twisted. _Stroud…_

Instead of taking a seat in the high back chair, Josephine instead sat on the couch beside Ashrielle. “Horse Master Dennet is taking good care of the horses. Yours looks especially beautiful with the braids you put in her hair.”

Ashrielle picked up her teacup and took a small sip. The hot liquid burned on the way down, and warmed her frigid body. Another sip, and she set it back down. “Has Cullen given you the list of casualties yet?”

Josephine’s lips pressed into a thin line. “No. And let us not speak of it. You’ve just returned.”

“Stroud,” Ashrielle whispered the name of the Warden she’d condemned to die in the Fade. “I left him. I left him there Josie.”

“Now, now,” a voice so soft, so gentle, accompanied by a clever fingers playing with her hair. “Let us not worry on it now. Have I ever told you about the time Yvette-“

The world blurred, and her hearing faded in and out. “Josie?”

“It’s okay,” Josephine said, her voice fading away. “Just rest now.”

::

Cullen knocked and only entered after gaining permission to Josephine’s private quarters. “How is she?” he asked immediately.

“The poor thing.” Josephine led him to the couch where the Inquisitor slept on her side, a thick blanket tucked around her lithe body. “I think we finally asked too much of her.”

“It had to be her, and it had to be done,” Cullen said with a frown.

Josephine scowled. “It’s unfair.”

“It is regrettable. Do you think I don’t care for her? I do.” The two advisors stood shoulder to shoulder, staring down at their Inquisitor. “Unfortunately, all we can do is lighten the burden when we can. Bull pointed out her...state on the journey back. I had many soldiers to attend-” Cullen shook his head. “I will not make excuses. I should have noticed.”

A small sigh escaped Josephine’s lips, her shoulders dropped. “Sometimes I think that we ask too much of you as well.”

“I will endure.” His hand tightened on the pummel of his sword. “We all have our parts to play. Shall I take her to her quarters?”

“She would be more comfortable in her own bed,” Josephine said with a decisive nod. The Inquisitor’s feet dangled off the edge of the couch. “I’ll get the doors.”

::

Outside of Herald’s Rest, Josephine sat on one of the crates, The Iron Bull standing to her side. “How is she?”

“I’m afraid I couldn’t get her to speak much,” Josephine said. However, accomplished at The Game, she continued. “What happened in the Fade-“ she paused as a couple of drunken soldiers walked by. “She is greatly disturbed by the choice she had to make. Leaving Stroud-“

“I get it,” Bull said. And he did. She’d chosen to save his Chargers after all. A choice she didn’t make lightly. He had been in the Fade, physically in the fade with her. He had escaped along with their companions. And then there was the great pause where he felt queasy. Hawke emerged appearing shocked and sickened. After what felt like an eternity, Ashrielle emerged, and without hesitation closed the rift. He wasn’t able to catch her eye as she gave the speech of Stroud’s heroism, nor when she banished the Wardens to Orlais to protect them. On the return trip home, she rode her horse, keeping her eyes forward as she followed the soldiers. Eyes glazed, unfocussed. Remembering, not present. A woman like her, she wasn’t equipped to deal with the aftermath. “The potion?”

“Worked faster than I expected.” Josephine sighed. “I do hope she won’t hold this against me. I’d hate to see our trust broken over this. I just wanted to help.”

Bull rested his hand on her shoulder. “That is something she _will_ understand.”

::

It made The Iron Bull oddly content to see her all tucked in. The Commander and the Ambassador clearly had a little ‘mother hen’ in them. The fireplace gave light and warmth to the room, surely a comfort if she were to wake. The blinds were drawn to keep the sun from disturbing her rest come morning. It had been difficult to hand over the responsibility for his _Kadan_ to the others, but he also had his men to worry about.

Especially Rocky, who’d taken a bad blow at Adamant. Stitches still couldn’t say if he’d make a full recovery. Dalish had fractured something in her arm, and she’d always been skittish around other mages. She had managed to hide the injury until halfway back when Grim of all people finally said something about the awkward way she was holding her arm. Stitches himself had a few new scars post battle, shallow wounds sewn up by Krem who was more used to sewing clothing into repair than human flesh.

“What a fucking mess,” he muttered. Fucking Wardens. Fucking Fade. Fucking demons.

Ashrielle kicked in her sleep until free of the blankets. She turned onto her side, still in her gambeson and leather breaches, although her light armour and boots had been removed. In her sleep, her feet brushed against each other over and over. He gently grabbed her ankle, removed one sock, then the other. After that, she slept soundly. He ran his finger over the high arch of her foot. “Elves and their bare feet.”

He’d disposed of his heavy armour earlier in the evening, and only bothered to remove his boots before laying down beside her. For the first time, he wished his horns had grown back so that he could lay on his side, only so he could hold her closer. However, on his back, he made do with laying as close to her sleeping form as he could. Her earthy scent of Elfroot and Dawn Lotus soothed him. His heart still tripped in his chest, thinking about what he could have lost. He already lost the Qun, he couldn’t imagine surviving the loss of her. He would, of course, continue on but it would all be rather… meaningless, and dull without her light. His spark, his Asaaranda, his _Kadan._

::

Bull awoke to the presence of another in the room, and nearly jumped out of his skin at how close Cole stood Ashrielle’s side of the bed. “Kid,” he snarled, more startled than angry with the spirit.

“It doesn’t stop. Hawke or Stroud. Stroud or Hawke. Warden or Champion. Rank or wild-card. She thinks of the man she’s never met. The smile upon Marian’s lips when she speaks his name. ‘ _Anders.’_ ” Cole’s hat obstructs the view of his face, but Bull doesn’t need it to know the kid is worried about the Inquisitor. He’s in her room, hovering over her prone form, whispering these words. “Love unbroken, bound, and true. Hawke, don’t let her make the sacrifice. Not this time. Not this time.”

Bull frowned, and ran his hand over her arm, a need to touch, to know she was real. “It isn’t easy for her to leave Stroud behind though, regardless of how much she wanted to save Hawke.”

“No,” Cole agreed. “It wasn’t her fault, but she won’t believe me, she won’t let go. Needs to remember, needs to forget.” He removed his favoured hat and left it on her night table. “Marian thrills in the arms of Anders. Alive, alive, alive, a joyous chant. Varric frowns at letters, but his knees shook when Waffles stepped out of the fade, he is happy, and guilty for that happiness.”

He hadn’t figured out the spirit completely, but he knew that the words spoken were always meaningful, even if they didn’t always make sense. “Why are you telling me this?”

Cole frowned. “They are happy. They are because of her. She needs to see. Needs to feel. Soldiers were lost, and all she can see is death. Soldiers are alive, liberated, laughing, living, _because of her._ Show her, The Iron Bull.” And somehow, between blinks, the spirit was gone, the hat the only way he could know for certain he’d been there in the first place.

“Fuck,” Bull muttered.

::

Despite how Cole had unnerved him, he took the spirit’s advice. He insisted she dress, dragged her out to spend time with Varric. Later, when he’d talked the location out of the dwarf, he took her to see Marian Hawke before she left for Weisshaupt, and they met Anders, whose quiet manner didn’t line up with Bull’s impression of a man who’d blow up a Chantry. Still, the two showed they were very much in love. Anders himself gave Ashrielle a lifeward amulet in thanks.

When the returned to Skyhold, she checked in on the wounded soldiers. Many were sitting up, injured, but in good spirits. Harding looked relaxed with her group of scouts. Dorian was enjoying the rare sunny weather. Sera and Varric were shooting dummies. Cassandra and Cullen walked side by side, Cullen rubbing the back of his neck, eyes averted. Josephine and Lilianna stood on the battlements, watching over.

Bull felt some of the tension release from Ashrielle’s shoulders, though he kept his hand on her back. “War isn’t pretty, and it isn’t easy, but it’s necessary, and the sacrifices made are worth it.”

Her shoulders tensed once again. Looking up, she had to adjust Cole’s hat which she’d smiled at when she found in the morning. “How’s Rocky?”

“I don’t know,” Bull admitted. “Stitches can’t say much yet.”

She looked somewhere over his shoulder, unable to meet his eyes. “And if he dies?” Her voice pitched, and she took a second to get it back under control. “Is that sacrifice still worth it?”

They stood, not as The Iron Bull and Ashrielle, but as the commander of her mercenary forces, and the Inquisitor. She wasn’t asking them as friends, nor lovers, but asking him, leader to leader. It pained him, but he nodded. “Adamant had to happen. There were going to be casualties. Everyone went in under the Inquisition banner knew the risk, and was willing to lay down their life for the cause. Those who survive must do them justice, must continue the fight, and enjoy the time the others did not get.”

She turned into him, rested her forehead against his chest, the floppy brim of the hat curling up. “Ma serannas, ma lath.” She took a step back. “I need to return Cole’s hat.” A smile graced her face. “I think I’m okay without it now.”


	11. Magic and Memories

“You altered his nature.”

“I did nothing of the sort,” Ashrielle defended her choice. “Cole is more human now, he has a chance to grow, to be more.”

Solas’s hands balled into fists as he tried to control his temper. “He is a spirit of compassion, do you even understand how rare that is?” He scoffed. “Of course not.”

She bristled at his condescending tone. “He had enough self to become just like the original Cole. He held on so tightly to something in this world as to become it. Becoming more human, he’s protected from being controlled- which is the end result we wanted.”

“And at what cost?” Solas turned his back on her, flipping through papers on his desk. “He can never be as he was. You robbed the world of pure compassion.” He shook his head. “Dirthara-ma.”

Fuelled with ire, she stormed from the room.  

::

“I am surprised,” Cassandra said as she watched Ashrielle by the stables at a distance.

“As am I,” Cullen admitted. He checked over the paper a scout had rushed to him, signed it, and sent the man back on his way. Ashrielle’s decision to trek off to the Hinderlands to close a few fade rifts had surprised the members of the war table, and the inner-circle asked to join her. “So soon after Adamant…”

“It is best,” Cassandra decided. “To get back on the horse after falling, so to speak. Best not to give her time to fear battle, or its consequences.”

Cullen glanced at the warrior, suited up in her armour as she would be accompanying the Inquisitor. “Be careful.” Her hardened glare made him swallow hard. “Not that you aren’t always careful, or skilled for that matter.” Rubbing the back of his neck he muttered ‘ _Maker’s breath,_ ’ before finding more appropriate words. “I just mean-“

Taking pity on the Commander, Cassandra stopped him with a hand on his arm, her gaze softening. “I understand the sentiment, Commander. I’m just not particularly fond of being fretted over.”

The one corner of his mouth curved up. “I’m hardly fretting.”

She smiled back, and noticed the Inquisitor mounting the Dalish All-Bred. “Looks like I’m off to work.”

::

Cassandra had her own worries to fret over. The Inquisitor always brought a well-balanced party with her. A good balanced of range, and melee; brute strength and flanking tactics. Today she’d brought Blackwall and Iron Bull to round their party of four. Warriors and an offensive storm mage.

“Hope you don’t mind me saying, Seeker,” Bull said, riding close to her as Blackwall took the lead, and Ashrielle rode in the middle. “But you’ve got these furrow lines, right here,” he said pointing to the space between his brows. “You’re practically projecting your anxiety.”

Over time, she had learned it was better not to pretend with the ex-Ben-Hassrath. “Do you see our group’s configuration?”

“You mean, do I notice the suspicious lack of an archer? I do. I also noticed there was a frostiness when I asked her if Solas would be joining us. Also, no Cole.” He looked up at the canopy of leaves they rode under. “It’s kind of odd not to have the kid around.” He pulled the reigns a little when his mount decided to veer off, as it consistently did- Iron Bull was quite convinced the mount hated him. “All her usual groupings have been ignored. This is nothing but strength, and we can’t count on Boss actually working a proper barrier, so, I hope you loaded up on health potions before we left.”

::

Scout Harding stretched out. It was good to be so close to home. She wondered if she would have time to visit her parents while the Inquisition set up the forward camp just in time for the Inquisitor. Harding grinned, the Dalish Elf looked like something out of a fairy tale riding on her majestic steed. It took a moment to understand the sense of unease settling within her belly. The Inquisitor didn’t wear a smile, as she usually did, nor did she tend to her own horse, instead passing her off to the Requisitions Officer to deal with. The rest of her crew was weighed with armour, Blackwall, Cassandra, and Iron Bull.

“I hope you don’t come across a door that needs unlocking, looks like you’re missing someone,” Harding said in jest.

The Inquisitor glanced at her, then overhead. “Where are the rift that is causing the farmers problems?”

A blink. A breath. “Okay, to work then,” Harding said, turning toward the maps spread out on a table, held down with stones at the corners. “It isn’t too far,” she said her gloved finger traced a trail, showing them the way.

“You should come with us,” Bull said with a big grin.

“Me?” Harding practically jumped in her boots. Joining the Inquisitor herself, and her companions, even for just one afternoon would be an incredible experience. A story she would certainly tell forever.

Ashrielle turned to him slowly, eyes narrowed, arms crossing over her chest, a harsh wind blowing her long leather jacket and pulling at the braids in her hair. He ignored the look completely. “Yeah, you said so yourself, we’re down someone who can unlock doors.”

“We’re here to kill demons, and shut a rift,” Ashrielle argued.

“And how many times do we get to some door or chest along the way and can’t open it?” Bull argued. “Besides, someone to help you flank enemies will keep injuries down,” he said, playing to her soft-heart.

“Well, if Harding wants to-“

“Yes! Of course!” Harding jumped at the chance. “I’d be delighted.”

Ashrielle frowned as if this was the opposite of the answer she wanted to hear. Turning away, she started toward the trail. “We leave the horses to rest. Let’s get moving.”

::

Cassandra bore down, planting her feet as the Pride Demon smashed against her shield. Of course, it just had to be a Pride Demon. Their immunity to lightening had Ashrielle occasionally casting the few winter spells she knew, they almost as weak as her barriers.

Next thing Cassandra knew, she was on her back, a Greater Terror looming over her. Lightening crackled as it struck, the Terror jerking on impact, paralyzed long enough for Cassandra to get to her feet. “I’ll take the Terror,” Ashrielle said, wielding her staff with ruthless grace.

“Pride is too strong,” Cassandra said, seeing Blackwall throw back a health potion. “You need to disrupt the rift!”

Ashrielle looked past the Terror to the shifting fade rift. “Harding! Keep the Terror off my back!”

Several arrows hit the Terror at once, and it staggered back. Harding shot her a grin across the battlefield. “You got it, Inquisitor.”

Cassandra rejoined the warriors hacking at the laughing Pride Demon. “The Inquisitor is going to disrupt the rift.”

Bull ducked at the last minute, barely missing the massive armoured paws. “Good,” he panted.

::

The battle dragged on, exhausting everyone, but finally the Pride Demon fell. Bull let the tip of his bloodied great axe hit the ground, arms burning with the exertion. He had a great love of battle, however, his Asaaranda hadn’t been acting normal and it was making him nervous.

“Inquisitor!” Cassandra shouted out. “Shut the rift!” Instead, the Elven woman stood under the weak rift, reached her hand to the leaking fade. “What is she doing?” Cassandra turned to the other companions, but Bull was already storming across the burnt grass.

Grabbing her arm, he yanked her back. “Close it.”

“What if we could go in?” she asked, eyes pale and all too desperate. “We could find Stroud… we could bring him out.”

“No.”

Her face fell. “Bull-“

Despite the ache in his chest, he remained impassive. “No. He’s dead. Close it.”

“What if he’s still alive in there?”

His hands on her shoulders grabbed, perhaps, a little too hard. “He isn’t. He’s dead. Don’t let his sacrifice be in vain.” She shook her head, refusing to grasp the obvious truth. His fingers tightened. “Who’s going to die this time to ensure your escape?”

The full weight of her lithe body went behind the shove, some electricity coursing from her to him, knocking him back a full step. Set with anger, she turned back to the rift, lifted her left hand and bore down as she closed the rift.

She didn’t say a word as she walked away.

::

The fire burned well into the night. Tents were pitched in a semi-circle. Soldiers stood guard, while the Inquisitor sat alone in her tent. Ashrielle stared at the green light on her hand, wishing it would swallow her whole. She wanted so badly to be strong, to see all the good she did, but the thought of being left in the fade, hopelessly alone to die sickened her to the core. And she did that to Stroud.

Laying on her back, palms up, the tent took on the eerie green glow she’d come to find comfort in. In a second, her peace was disturbed by a massive figure in her tent, her heart nearly pounding out of her chest.

“Sorry,” Bull whispered. “It’s hard to sneak into a tent when you’re this size. You’ve got to pre-plan, avoid scouts, and make sure you don’t get your horns caught on the tent opening.”

She stared for a moment. “Are you here to scold me?”

His gaze softened. “I think you do that to yourself enough.”

A little smile pulled on her lips, and she patted the spot next to her. “Stay a while?” He laid down, and she snuggled up to him, her leg tangling around his, and they laid silent for a long moment.

Biting her bottom lip, her finger trailed over his chest. “When I was a little girl, perhaps only in my fifth year, my clan travelled through the Free Marches,” she whispered, not wishing anyone else to hear. “My magic hadn’t yet manifested, I was tucked in the aravel with the other children.”

“Aravel. Those are the landships, right?” His fingers found skin as he pulled her shirt up a little.

She smiled, pleased with the fact that he’d remembered. “Yes. The aravel stopped quite suddenly, and there were shouts outside. We could hear the sounds of swords clashing. We were frightened, Athras, Deyrith, and I. Athras was the oldest, he was in his seventieth year-“

“He should have been out there fighting then,” Bull said.

“Perhaps if he were a child of the Qun, or of Human parents, or an elf of the city, but Dalish elves keep their children sacred, protected at all costs, the next generation of a dying breed. We’re not considered adults until we receive our vallaslin, typically in our eighteenth year, and a Keeper could even decide we’re not ready then. And so we were tucked away until the hatch opened. Varwen led us out, pushed us toward the nearby caves. When I looked back, the mast of the aravel was on fire. Everyone was fighting.

“We ran into the mouth of a cave, but the fighting was getting closer. An arrow hit Deyrith, he was born a few summers before I was, we were close.” Her hands balled into fists. “There was so much blood. Athras pushed me further into the cave, he carried Deyrith. We just kept moving, Deyrith kept crying.” She stopped, choking on the words, fighting tears as if it had happened only yesterday. “The noise attracted the spiders. They bit Athras, poisoned him, I think and he couldn’t hold Deyrith anymore.”

His hand rubbed her arm, and then clenched in her long hair, and she felt secure in his grasp. “They thought to get to me too, but… it was like a dam broke inside, and the waves washed over me, and lightening crackled, and flicked, it struck and leapt. I had absolutely no control over it, but it kept the spiders away from me.” She frowned. “They wrapped Athras and Deyrith in webbing and dragged them deeper into the cave. I stayed, curled in a ball, hovering on the edge of consciousness, afraid the spiders would come back, but so very tired. Varwen found me, I didn’t recognize him at first, not with all the blood, but his voice broke through… I just couldn’t answer. How could I tell him his son had been shot by the archers, taken by spiders?”

“Explains why you’re so afraid of them.”

“Varwen carried me out. I wonder sometimes, if my magic had manifested itself just a little earlier… maybe I could have protected Athras, and by extension, Deyrith.”

“You can’t go through life like that,” he said sternly. “The what-if’s will kill you.”

“I know. Doesn’t stop it though.” She frowned. “My mother died that day. The fighting got confused. The clan thought the humans were being aggressive toward us. They weren’t. They were trying to warn us away from the approaching darkspawn. In the end, both sides took heavy losses. My mother had blight-sickness. The clan showed mercy by killing her swiftly.” She glanced up at the Iron Bull. “I find it sad that you don’t know your mother. I only had mine a few years, but I carry her with me always. With our dead, we plant a tree over their graves. I visit the tree where my mother became earth. It is… comforting.”

“Perhaps then, it is time for a visit?” His fingers gently brushed over the arch of her ear, and she buried her face against his chest.

“She was very brave, the clan’s best hunter but even she couldn’t save father when they were ambushed. She tried to teach me young that you can’t save everyone, but it is not a lesson I ever really was able to grasp. I want to save _everyone_ , Bull.”

“I know.”

“But I can’t.”

“I know.”

She paused a moment before asking in a small voice. “So, what do I do?”

“You do what you can,” he said. “No one expects you to be able to save everyone.”

Her breath was an unintentional caress over his skin. “Stay with me?”

“Always.”


	12. Perspective

The Iron Bull noticed quite the gathering at the front gates from his position in the sparring ring. A curious whispers all around as others shot covert glances at Lady Montilyet who greeted them. He figured they were expected. Perhaps some nobles. At least, someone with influence by the way he saw Josephine do a little curtsy.

A screech caught his attention, the pitch was that of glee, and he knew it came from his Asaaranda. Eye searching, he found her darting across the grounds, her long blonde hair flowing behind her, and she launched herself into the arms of one of the men. He held her like she was the most precious thing in the world, tight and possessive. Jealousy struck him hard, and it dawned on him, the group of elves all had their faces marked with a vallislin. Her clan.

Her voice carried, but the sounds were strange, foreign as she spoke in her native tongue to those who could understand. He returned his attention to Krem, who was studying him a little too close. “You good, Chief?”

“Yeah,” he grumbled, lifting the shield once again. “I’m good.”

::

Dalish sat on the fence, watching her Chief and Lieutenant go at it, infinitely more vicious than before the break. Her eyes shifted to her staff wondering if it might come down to her to break it up. Lately, The Iron Bull had become easier to aggravate. When she gave it a good deal of thought, it came down to the moment he had lost the Qun. All of his rules of self were out the window. Free of the Qun, becoming Tal-Vashoth changed him. It remained to be seen how much.

She had a great deal of love for the Inquisitor. Less for calming the Breach if she were being truthful. She loved Ashrielle for how she calmed the anger inside of Bull, soothed the savage. Being around her could make him go into a lull where he didn’t need the battle so much. He was a good man. Dalish knew she’d follow him to the end, but she wasn’t fool enough to deny his nature.

Krem blocked but the force knocked him back a good three feet, and before he could get his footing back, another blow hit the shield and knocked him to the ground. Bull raised his fist and Dalish jumped into the circle, and stood over her vulnerable comrade. “Enough, Bull!” she snapped, hoping he would think twice about hitting her while weaponless. She could tell Krem was back on his feet, but she remained firmly planted between them. “What in the Void was that about? This is training! He is your comrade, not an enemy!”

“Nothing,” Bull said shortly, tossing his shield aside. “I got carried away.”

“Wasn’t nothing,” she barely heard Krem mutter.

“Say again?” Bull snapped.

“You’ve got two ears,” Krem snapped right back. “Your hearing is fine. It wasn’t nothing. You saw the way Ashrielle greeted that guy and-“

Bull rotated his shoulder. “I said it’s nothing.”

“Greeted?” Dalish turned to Krem. “I noticed the clan come in, but I didn’t pay mind to the Inquisitor’s greeting.”

“Jumped into some man’s arms.” He brushed some grass from his shoulder. “Chief’s jealous.” Dalish knew that Krem and Bull had been travelling together for years. They were as close as brothers. If Krem said Bull was jealous, he was jealous.

“Is that a normal greeting for your people?” Bull asked, looking somewhere over her shoulder.

She followed his gaze, and noticed Ashrielle leading the clan into Skyhold. Turning her attention to her beloved commander, Dalish softened. “You lived under the Qun. Our people are typically respectful of one another. Our clans are our family.”

“So you’re saying that it’s normal. To jump. To wrap your arms and legs around a man who’s not your lover?”

Dalish flushed and shifted uncomfortably. While not surprised that Bull would ask, she certainly didn’t expect the conversation to turn into this. “She is affectionate. I’m not surprised she would behave like this. It doesn’t mean she’s bonded to him.”

“Bonded?”

Teeth bit tongue to keep the curse back. “Forget it.”

“Not going to happen,” Bull snarled.

“It is the Dalish tradition equivalent to marriage for Humans. And I’m not saying that is what they are, nor expected to be, nor arranged-“

“Your people arrange marriages?”

“Arrange bonds, yes.” Dalish huffed out a breath. “Breeding is important to the Dalish. We must bond with another Elf to continue our bloodlines, to pass on our culture to our children-“

“To another Elf.”

Realizing what she had said, she swallowed hard. “Bull.”

“Is it forbidden for her to be with someone outside of her race?”

“Bull-“

“Dalish.”

She took a deep breath, and reluctantly nodded. “Fertility between an Elf and a Human is low, but any offspring is still Human. Between Elf and Dwarf is nearly unheard of. And…” She took a deep breath. “They won’t let her back, Bull. Ashrielle, it doesn’t matter if she’s First of her clan, it doesn’t matter if she’s the Inquisitor, and brings peace to all of Thedas, if they know she is with you, she will be exiled.”

He turned and stalked off. Dalish turned to Krem, and chewed on her bottom lip. “Is he going to be alright?”

Krem tried to work out the kink in his shoulder, even as his eyes followed The Iron Bull. “Yeah,” he said unconvincingly. “The big guy’ll shake it off.”

::

Bull didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to think about her with her clan, the family she wanted, the life that had been taken away. He only had one thing in mind, and that was beating the breath out of some unlucky bastard, so it might as well be ones on the other team. He found Cullen in his office. Ordered himself some work with the Chargers.

Cullen flipped through papers. “Well, Venatori have been spotted in the Hinderlands.”

“We’ll take care of it.”

“Did the Inquisitor sign-“

“I’m asking the Commander.”

Cullen eyed the mercenary, and sighed, signing off his name. “I’ll have a runner take this to Liliana. There should be Scouts will meet you at Upper Lake Camp.”

Bull nodded and left, but not before he heard the Commander mutter, ‘I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?’

::

Ashrielle expected to find Bull in the tavern, however, he wasn’t in his usual spot. Neither was Krem for that matter. Not a single Charger in the establishment, she left. Not in any of his usual haunts, she started asking soldiers, all of them happy enough to help.

“Saw him sparring with Krem earlier-“

“Last I saw, he was with you, Inquisitor.”

“Entering the main hall, Your Worship.”

“Aye, went to speak with Cullen in his office.”

The last gave her a proper direction, and if Bull had spoken with Cullen, perhaps her Commander would know where the Bull had gone after. She climbed the stairs and walked in without knocking. Both Cullen and Cassandra had smiles on their faces from opposite ends of the desk, but turned to her welcomingly. “Inquisitor,” Cullen greeted formally and rested his hands on the pommel of his sword.

Cassandra tapped her gloved fingers on the desk, shooting a grin Cullen’s way. “We will speak later.” She turned to leave only to pause and turn to the Inquisitor. “Unless you are in need of me.”

“Perhaps.” She planted her hands on her hips. “Do either of you know where Bull is?”

“The tavern, perhaps?” Cassandra offered with a small shrug.

“Checked, he wasn’t there. Checked his quarters. And the sparring ring. And everywhere where weapons are stored and-“

Cullen cleared his throat. “He’s on his way to the Hinderlands.”

“The Hinderlands,” she stared blankly. “Why?”

“He asked for a task. He was in a foul mood. I decided it is best to let him work it out. I have faith he and the Chargers can handle the Venatori before they can make a stronghold.”

Her lips created a fine line as they pressed together in anger. “How long ago?”

“A few hours at most-“

And she stormed out without letting Cullen finish, a moment later she heard footsteps following her down. She whirled on him- only to find it was Cassandra. “You’re going after him,” the woman said.

“Are you going to try and stop me because-“

“No,” Cassandra cut her off. “I’m going with you.”

Arguing took time that Ashrielle didn’t feel she had. “Fine.” And she led the way to the horses. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Krem, and she nearly tripped over her own two feet. “What are you doing here?” A flicker of panic struck her. “Why aren’t you with Bull?”

“We’re currently in the middle of a… spat. Can’t even call it a proper disagreement much less a fight. It’s more him being a…. doesn’t matter. We’ll patch it up when he gets back.”

“That’s why he asked Cullen to go for a while? Because you two had a fight?”

Krem paused in the sharpening of his sword, and looked up at her with a frown. “Perhaps in part.”

She huffed out a breath. “Just tell me!”

“He saw how you greeted that man in your clan. He’s jealous. He’s in the middle of a jealous fit.” Krem frowned. “Didn’t help what Dalish explained about your culture. That whole bonding thing-“

“Oh for the love of all the Creators, the Maker, the Ancestors, and Andraste herself-“

“Darkly dangerous. Love lit but livid,” Cole touched her shoulder gently. “Mine. Mine. Mine, his mind screams, but still drowned out by the soft whisper of ‘his.’”

The spirit’s words gave her pause, yet she stormed toward the horses, now with Cassandra, Cole, and Krem in tow.

::

Given that the Chargers had stopped a few hours away to make camp, and hunt supper made it easy for Ashrielle and her companions to catch up. In one swift movement, Ashrielle was off her steed and stomping across the camp to where Bull stood. “You!” She tried to shove him with both hands, but his impressive bulk didn’t move. “How could you leave? You misunderstood everything! And you left! You promised _always_ , and you left!”

Bull tried to hold onto his righteous anger but the tears in her eyes made them seem even softer, lighter, vulnerable.

 

“I’m not bonded. Nor arranged to be.” The tears slipped down her cheeks. “I am with you, _ma lath_. I made that clear to my clan-“ her voice choked off by emotion, and she bit her lip to keep in the horrible sorrow.

“My clan. Not my clan. Not now. Not anymore,” Cole said.

Bull put the pieces together quickly, and forced her to look up at him with just one finger under her chin. “You told your clan that we are together?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

His hands dropped to his side. “Dalish told me you would be exiled for it.”

She sniffled. “I am.” A tear slid down her cheek and she quickly brushed it away. “I’m not the First anymore. I’m not a Lavellan anymore. I’m the Inquisitor now. I have a new family-“ she sniffled again. “I have you?”

The way she said it more like a question than a statement broke his heart. He kissed her forehead, her nose, her lips. “Always. Always. I’m sorry-“

“Hot anger, burning, brighter, brighter-“ Cole muttered.

“No one here is angry,” Bull argued.

“Red!” Cole’s hands flew up to his knives. He twirled around and disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

Cassandra had her sword and shield up, standing defensively between the direction Cole had disappeared facing, and Ashrielle. She saw it a moment later, coming through the treeline. “Red Templars!”

Bull’s lips claimed Ashrielle’s in a quick, hard promise, and led the Chargers into battle.

The staff grip was soft in her hands as she stood back away from the bulk of the battle with Dalish. The mages compensated for each other’s shortfalls. They controlled the flow of battle; Dalish with walls of ice, and Ashrielle with walls of fire. As their companions fought close together Dalish brought the protective glyph to life, and barriers formed around each of them.

“Asaaranda! Light them up!” Bull called from the field.

Eyes narrowed on the enemy as she focused. Mana swirled and left her skin tingling. The lightning struck, leapt and struck again. The air itself charged with her magic. Each shot of lightning intensified as dark clouds of sympathetic formed over the field.

It didn’t take long for the field to be cleared. Paralyzed, electrocuted, and frozen enemies make for easy kills. Ice clung to Dalish’s skin like armour, she breathed out a white plume of air. “Are they all dead?”

“Probably,” Bull shot a meaningful glance to his men who immediately took up throat-cutting duties.

Cole rejoined the party, his blades coated in blood. “There are scouts to the north. Hurt. Can we help them?”

Ashrielle turned to Bull. “Finish the task Cullen gave you. Return to Skyhold immediately after.”

Bull bowed his head. “I am sorry for jumping to conclusions.”

Ashrielle nodded. “Just come home in one piece. Cassandra, Cole, we’ll escort the scouts home safe.”

“At once, Inquisitor,” Cassandra responded.

Bull easily lifted Ashrielle onto her mount. “Be safe.”

She leaned down and kissed him. “You too.”

::

Cassandra led her horse toward Skyhold, the wounded scout upon her mount. She glanced up at the Inquisitor. “You let Bull off rather easily.”

“I don’t want to fight. Not with him. I do enough fighting,” Ashrielle whispered.

Cassandra sighed, thinking of the torch she held in her heart for another. “Yes, yes we do.”

“We have to enjoy the time we have, don’t we? Especially with all that is happening. Who knows how much we have left.”

The weight of the Inquisitor’s words was far heavier than that of her armour. “I suppose that is true.”

“So, we should make sure that everyone we love, knows it.”

Cassandra glanced up to find the Inquisitor’s odd light blue eyes narrowed at her. Cassandra cleared her throat and nodded. “Yes. We should.”

“Safe and solid, protecting and proud.” Cole murmured. “He feels like quiet, stronger when you hold him.”

Both he and Ashrielle turned to Cassandra, her cheeks and ears becoming first pink and then a deep red. She cleared her throat and pointed ahead. A cold burst of air blew snow from the branches and it swirled around them, the cold cutting deep. Cassandra shivered. “We are nearly to Skyhold. It will be nice to get near a fire.”

Ashrielle couldn’t stop the mischievous smile from spreading. “Or you could find another way to keep warm.”

Cassandra’s dark eyes widened as she stared up at the inquisitor in shock. “I-inquisitor!”

Ashrielle laughed. “What? I’d do the same if Bull were here.”

The disgusted noise left Cassandra’s lips, but they curved just slightly, and Ashrielle figured it a win.


	13. Building & Burning Bridges

The Inquisitor let out a sigh after the final judgement of the day. She’d counted eight moons since she’d last saw Bull. A raven had come in a few days previous, the Chargers had defeated the Venatori and were coming home. How long it would take depended on the state of the roads, bandits, and the continuous fighting between both fractions of the war.

“Is that all for today, Josephine?” Ashrielle asked as she stood and stretched out.

Josephine looked up from her parchment, the flickering candle lit her face beautifully. It was only then did Ashrielle realize it had become quite dark outside, the torches in the hall had all been lit to compensate. “Actually, one more order of business.”

Ashrielle bit her lip to keep from complaining. “What now?”

“Dinner with Comte Marc Dubois.” Josephine held up a hand to stop any complaint or excuse before it could form. “It won’t be long before the ball at the Winter Palace. He could help you. If nothing else, this will be excellent practice.” As Josephine started to walk down the long hall, Ashrielle sighed and fell into step behind her. “Now, how will you address the Comte?”

“Your… Grace?”

Josephine nearly dropped her quill. “No. You would use Your Grace if he were a Duke or a Marquis. A Comte you address as Your Lordship.”

“Your Lordship,” Ashrielle repeated.

“Right.” She passed her board and quill off to one of her assistants. The Ambassador took a deep breath, and straightened out her shoulders. “Show no weakness. This might be a friendly dinner, but he is skilled at The Game, as will everyone who you will encounter at the Winter Palace.”

Ashrielle brought her shoulders back, but twisted the Enhanced Lightning Ring on her finger. “You’re staying with me, right?”

“Oh, absolutely, Duckling.”

“Duckling?” Ashrielle grinned.

Josephine fussed a little with the Inquisitor’s hair, trying to get the long curls just so. “Yes, well, you need someone to watch over you. Let’s go meet the Comte.”

::

“You appear as though you’re enjoying yourself,” Cassandra said, as she walked closer to the roaring fire behind Varric.

“Immensely, Seeker,” Varric replied with a curl of his lips. He motioned vaguely with his hand across the Great Hall. “I know it’s a little bit mean, but I do love watching our beloved Inquisitorialness try to remember the guidelines of dealing with Orlesian nobility. She tries so hard. Look at her. You can practically see her going through Ruffle’s rules in her head.”

Cassandra scoffed, but sat down next to him to observe. “Has she behaved herself so far?”

“Mostly. Messed up the forks on the appetizers.” He shook his head. “How scandalous. Fucking Orlesians.”

“A most scathing review of our guest.”

“It wasn’t just of him, all Orlesians. I’m generous like that. Spreading the wealth of words.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m sure they appreciate it.”

“Oh shit.”

She snapped to attention, her hand going to her sword. “What?”

“First off, cool it Seeker,” Varric advised. He pointed with his quill. “Check the body language on Snuggles. Shoulders back, hand is gripping the table-“

“It really isn’t your business.” Ashrielle’s scathing response caught the attention of other guests, and members of the Inquisition. Everyone paused what they were doing, and suddenly Varric and Cassandra weren’t the only audience.

“You will need my forces. My lands could give your people a safe haven while travelling in Orlais.” The Comte turned to Josephine. “I expected you to have tamed this-“

“Say knife-ear,” Ashrielle said as she stood. “I dare you.”

“Dalish elf,” The Comte ended. He calmly took a sip of his wine. “You, Inquisitor, are a poor player of The Game.”

Ashrielle looked ready to say something more, but Josephine beat her to it. “I assure you, Comte Marc, we appreciate your journey here to see Skyhold. The Inquisitor has had a very long day, in the presence of some very bad people.” She tilted her head just slightly, a dark curl slipping from her bun. “How about we give her a moment to get collected. I could give you a tour of our gardens.”

“Lady Josephine, you are positively fetching. It could become… distracting from business.”

“Well, what good is business without a little pleasure?”

He studied her a long moment before smirking and offering his hand. “A short walk.”

Josephine rose, her hand in the Comte’s. As they walked away, she looked over her shoulder, a stern look on her face. Ashrielle sunk in her seat and pushed her meal around.

Varric and Cassandra watched her for a few minutes, their concern building. A glance at each other, and an understanding passed between them. Both left their seats and went to the Inquisitor.

“You alright there, Snuggles?” Varric asked.

“Orlesians are snobby stupid-faces.”

Cassandra snorted. “Lovely.”

“Very,” Leliana said, her Orlesian accent heavy on the word.

Ashrielle whipped around. The Spymaster stood with her hood up which hid her facial expressions, but her arms were crossed over her chest. “I didn’t m-mean you, Leliana.”

“The Comte could prove to be a very valuable ally. He and Josephine will return soon. Be on your best behaviour,” Leliana ordered. “Acquire us an asset.” She then turned her attention to Cassandra and Varric. “Come now. We are not meant to be part of this.”

Varric patted Ashrielle’s hand. “Good luck.”

Ashrielle sighed. “I’ll need it.”

::

The walk did not deter the Comte. “You must understand, Your Worship, my aid is conditional. All the way in Orlais do I hear whispers of you with a Qunari lover. I have no love for those savages. I don’t care if you use one in battle- I hope any you do have with you fall on their swords after this entire mess is cleaned up. But if you have one as your lover-“ he shook his head. “His influence over you would only benefit his people.”

“I assure you, there is no such relationship ongoing,” Josephine said. “The Iron Bull leads a mercenary band, a fraction of our forces, which is led by Commander Cullen.”

Ashrielle felt sick. The Comte’s words were one thing, they were almost expected at this point. Josephine’s casual dismissal of what she had with Bull left her feeling dizzy. Is this what everyone thought? She did try to keep it quiet, private, one part of her life that she had some control over, that was just hers and no one else’s. Catching Josephine’s eye, she saw the warning.

The doors burst open, and the Comte stiffened in his seat. The imposing dark outline stood proud, and strong. “Bull,” she whispered, a smile curving her lips. She turned back to the Comte. “Comte Marc Dubois, I’d say it’s been a pleasure, but I’ve been told that I am a terrible liar.”

Josephine covered her mouth. “Inquisitor!”

Ashrielle rushed to her lover and jumped into his awaiting arms. “The Iron Bull. You’ve left me waiting.”

He studied her, eye narrowing. “We’re in public, remember?”

With his hands on thighs holding her tightly, she trusted him to hold her. Her hands cupped his face, and she stared at him for a moment, searching for any sign he’d been injured while away. Finding none, she brushed her thumb over his lips. “You’re mine.”

He softened. “Yes.”

“Mine,” she repeated before kissing him. Her hands grabbed his horns, keeping him in place. His hands quickly shifted, one running up her spine to tangle in her long blonde curls, the other shifting to her bottom to keep her from falling. With one last brush of lips, she leaned back. Those gorgeous blue eyes promised more, later.

“This isn’t going to go over well with the nobles,” Bull warned. “Not that I’m complaining.”

A shout from Cassandra caught their attention, as did the sound of her sword leaving the scabbard. In the intense silence of those in shock, the sound seemed deafening. “Release her, Comte!”

Ashrielle slid out of Bull’s arms, and stared in horror as the Comte held a knife to Josephine’s throat. “Let her go!”

“You lay with a savage, Inquisitor. I shouldn’t be surprised. The Dalish are the same. You will not have the aid of my house. Not now. Not ev-“ The Comte jerked forward, the knife clattering on the floor before the body fell.

Josephine stood absolutely still in a state of wide-eyed shock. From the balcony above the throne, Leliana stood, lowering her bow.

::

“What a mess,” Leliana muttered, flipping through the rolls of parchment.

“We shouldn’t have gone to him for aid,” Josephine whispered. She was curled up on the chair in her office, settled by the fire.

“We needed the lake, his lands, his men would have been a great asset,” Cullen said. “Ah, here it is.” He passed the roll to Leliana who untied the coloured ribbon.

Her eyes scanned the parchment. “Marc was the youngest of three. His two older brothers slain by Qunari mercenaries.”

“Tal-Vashoth,” Bull muttered from where he leaned against the far wall.

“Qunari, yes, but not Bull,” Ashrielle said. “He should look beyond the race.”

“Don’t think he was capable.” Bull frowned. “You might be the Inquisitor, _Asaaranda,_ but all he saw was a ‘Knife-Ear.’”

“I know.” Ashrielle brought over a blanket and draped it over Josephine.

The Ambassador managed a small smile. “Thank you.”

“His family is going to be a problem for us,” Leliana said. “We should speak at the war table at sunrise.”

“Impressive shot by the way,” Cullen said.

Leliana nodded. “I may be the master of secrets, but that doesn’t mean I don’t make time for the archery range now and then.”

“Now and then.” Josephine let out a watery laugh. “How sure were you that you could make the shot?”

The Spymaster’s chin raised. “I had faith my arrow would fly true.”

“Then, should I be sending my thanks to the Maker?”

Leliana smile was small, and slow to form. “Perhaps in part.” She rolled the scroll back up, and retied the ribbon. “You should rest. You’ve had quite the day. We will deal with the repercussions tomorrow.”

Ashrielle fidgeted with the collar of her tunic. “Josephine, I’m sorry about what happened. I just couldn’t ignore what the Comte said, or how easily what I have with Bull was dismissed. It was impulsive, and selfish. You could have been-“ she shook her head, afraid to even speak the word.

“I knew of the Comte’s brother’s fate, I just had hoped that he would see past it.” Josephine turned to stare into the fire. “And I’m fine. Thank you for your concern. We will discuss how to move forward tomorrow.” She stood and walked to her desk. “I’ll prepare everything.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Leliana sad evenly. “You’re going to bed.” And one glance around the room said that everyone would be.

Ashrielle turned to Bull, and the two left, side by side.

::

“Bull, do you think Josephine will be alright?” Ashrielle asked once they were in her quarters. Deft fingers working on the filigree tabs of her shirt.

“Sure, but tomorrow morning she’ll have settled. And if not, that Antivian has one of the greatest poker-faces of all time.”

She draped the fine clothes over some decorative chair she’d never once sat on. Why Josephine insisted upon such opulence in her chambers was beyond her. Still, the woman had a good heart, an intelligence as sharp and as lethal as any blade, and a heart of loyalty to their cause. And she could have died. In Skyhold. In the main stronghold of the Inquisition.

Bull’s large hand wrapping around her neck brought a strange wave of calm. The light pressure brought her back against his chest. “Nothing happened.”

“But something could have. Right in front of me. Inside of Skyhold of all places! Jos-“

“The Ambassador is fine, _Asaaranda_.”

“Thanks to Leliana.” She tipped her head back to look up at him. “What if she hadn’t been there?”

“Others were. He wouldn’t have left alive.”

Ashrielle remained quiet a moment, remembering the events in vivid clarity. Bull’s hands went to her shoulders, gently kneading out the knots. “The Dubois of Orlais will be a problem.”

A finger traced the upper shell of her ear. “A problem for tomorrow.”

She turned to face him, so thankful for his presence. She didn’t know if she was strong enough to face all the Inquisition threw at her without him at her side… and she never wanted to find out. “Do you think there will ever be a time when tomorrow has no problems?”

He grinned. “Sure.” His body pressed against hers and forced her to take steps back, their eyes remaining locked. “And when there is,” he paused to lift her at the hips, and toss her on the bed, “I’ll keep you right here. All. Day. Long.”

The surprise at being thrown wore off quickly, and the large grin spread, crinkling the corners of her eyes. “Promise?”

“Promise.”


	14. Thunderstorm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had a hard time getting back into writing. :( But still working on it. Here's a quicky. No, not that kind :P

Agents of the Inquisition were mostly tucked away indoors. The building storm promised an impressive downpour, the dark clouds rolling in, thunder already could be heard in the distance. The Iron Bull didn’t mind being indoors this late in the evening. The Chargers were a great bunch, and never failed to entertain. Maryden’s tune was jovial, and Dalish was trying to convince Grim to dance. How uncomfortable the man looked with the very idea had everyone laughing.

Warm hands on his shoulders had him slowly turning his head. “ _Asaaranda_.”

Her hand slid down his arm and grabbed two of his fingers with her dainty hand. “Come with me.”

He smiled at her. Even sitting he was nearly the same height with her standing. “And where are we going?”

She tugged insistently. “Just trust me. Hurry.”

He quickly chugged down the rest of his drink, slammed down the mug, and kept up with the quick pace of the Inquisitor as she lead them through the throngs of dancers in the tavern, across the empty courtyard, up the stairs, down the hall and into her room. She dashed across her bedroom, and shoved open the ornamental doors to the balcony.

“What are you doing?” He asked, the rain had started. “Get back inside, you’re going to get sick.”

“I spent two weeks in the Storm Coast, I’ll be fine. Now hurry. Come here.”

He joined her on the balcony. She had a magnificent view. “We need to get inside before the storm.”

“No,” she turned and smiled widely. “That’s why we’re outside.” She pointed up to the dark clouds. “Wait for it…”

“What?”

A great burst of lightning shot from the sky followed closely by an impressive roll of thunder. The sheer power of it was exciting, much like being in battle. She flashed him a wicked grin. “Check this out.” She grabbed her staff from where it leaned against the door. “Keep back.” She paused, waiting, sensing.

Being so close to the Bas Saarebas, closer than he preferred being to most mages, he could feel the swirl of magic surrounding her, building much like the storm. Suddenly, she shifted, moved gracefully, almost like a dance. Purple lightning shot off in branches from her staff, striking a burst of white lightning from the sky. It burst and leapt, lighting the sky up in an impressive display.

Her eyes, bright with excitement turned to him, a goofy smile upon her face. “Figured that out a few summers ago. Pretty, isn’t it?”

It was her personal display of power that really grabbed him. More so, it was the fact that she had all that power, and just used it for fun displays rather than use it as a threat of what she is capable of.

“Beautiful,” he agreed before he captured her lips. After all. He wasn’t just talking about the firework show.


	15. The Threat In Skyhold

Skyhold was lively, full of those who had made the pilgrimage to her walls. They could hardly contain the daily influx of recruits, and skilled workers who wanted to help. Ashrielle couldn’t keep track of them all. In the early days, back when they were still at Haven, she at least knew most of the faces, even if she didn’t know the names. It had been ages since she could say the same for Skyhold.

She left the tavern, which was practically overflowing with patrons. The air had chilled considerably, and she glanced at the beautiful sky, a golden orange hue as the sun set. She gave a wave to Harding and Krem who were enjoying their ale outside the tavern doors; they waved back. A smile graced her face, while there were many strangers, there were many friends. Tamar and Katari were sparing, and she thought it best not to interfere. A group of mages were sitting by a fire together, it appeared that Neria was telling a story. Hall greeted her with a slight nod, and he went back to carving a decorative arrow. For all the things that continued to change, some things did remain blessedly the same.

Climbing the stairs, the ache in her hip returned. She’d taken a bad fall off of her horse after they were startled by Venatori mages. Varric, Dorian, and Blackwall had handled the threat quickly. In fact, they had a harder time chasing her horse down. She’d continued the mission, not injured enough to take her away from her duties. Her activities with Bull upon the return to Skyhold probably didn’t help. She smiled at the memory.

The ramparts were among her favourite places in Skyhold. There was something powerful, and magical about standing so high, and watching life go on below; or to watch outside, the mountains making her feel small, and insignificant- all dependant on her mood. Today, she felt good, felt powerful, full of energy, and hope. Unlike the crowded tavern, and courtyard, the ramparts were a little calmer. Scouts and guards continued their rotation. Cullen could often be seen doing his own rounds, ensuring that his own men were doing their job, as well as getting out of his office for a stretch.

Cold stone felt rough, but not unpleasant on her bare feet. She wouldn’t be able to stay out too long, one round, and then head in. She had been meaning to take Josephine away from her work and insist upon scones, tea, and gossip by the fire. Happy and light, she practically skipped along the ramparts. She paused along the way to glance down into the garden; her Crystal Grace was coming along, a couple of children had found a ball to play with, Cullen and Dorian were playing a game of Chess. A sense of peace washed over her, and she wanted nothing more than to sink into the comfy couch in Josephine’s office.

She hissed as the sudden pain hit her. She glanced down at her wrist, she looked at the cut, just a little nick, but the blood made her woozy. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw woman in a guard’s uniform walking by. “Hey, keep your kni-“ her tongue suddenly felt thick, and the world started to get blurry. Shutting her eyes tight, she fought the wave of dizziness. _Just a nick, it’s not bad, you’re fine._ Taking a great gulp of air, she stared down into the garden. The children were running around and the blurring made her stomach heave. She turned away, hunched over and vomited on the stone floor in a completely undignified fashion.

_Poison._

“Inquisitor!” The voice was followed by approaching footsteps. Then a hand upon her shoulder. “Inquisitor, you’re unwell!”

Unwell didn’t cover it. Her stomach heaved again, hands splaying out on the cold stone, dizziness returning tenfold. She felt entirely too hot. Her arms shook, protesting to her own weight. She wanted to tell the agent her suspicions, but couldn’t make more than a weak groan before vomiting again.

The rustle of armour and cloth as the figure stood, and bent over the battlements. “Commander!” One word, half stern, half urgency.

Cullen would come.

He would make things better.

She was sure of it.

\--

Cullen rushed up on the battlements, Dorian following closely behind. The red-haired former-Templar had the Inquisitor laying on her side, head in her lap, unfortunately close to quite the mess.

“Someone playing keep up with The Iron Bull again?” Dorian said flippantly. “I have warned her.”

Cullen knelt down by Belinda’s gauntlets. Her hand rested on Ashrielle’s forehead. The former templar had an innate gentle kindness about her. “She’s burning up, Commander.”

At that Dorian came to kneel with them. “The flu, perhaps,” he suggested, a vague gesture toward her bare feet. “I’ve told her about that too.”

“Yes, you’re a regular mother hen,” Cullen said, with just a hint of humour.

Dorian’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you sassing me, Commander?”

“Can you do anything for her, Ser?” Belinda asked Dorian.

The respect of the woman warmed the mage as he checked over his friend. “Depends. If it’s alcohol, there is little to be done but wait for it to leave her system.” He rubbed his hands together, hoping neither of the ‘former’ Templars wouldn’t smite him out of old habit, green swirls of healing magic manifested under his intense focus. “If a virus, I can ease her symptoms.” He held his hands over her, tending to her body and soul.

Ashrielle heaved again with no warning. Belinda groaned, nose wrinkling. “Maker’s breath!”

“It’s not alcohol,” Dorian muttered. Alcohol burned away at magical energies, and hers were still high.

Spotting a small pool of red, Cullen reached over the prone body and flipped her hand over. On the back of her wrist, a small cut- and he knew. “She was poisoned,” he snarled.

Belinda gasped. “Someone did this to her!”

“Get the gates closed,” Cullen ordered. “No one leaves.”

“At once, Commander,” Belinda jumped to her feet and took off running.

Her body seized, and then shook violently, Cullen quickly cushioned her head. “Do _something_ , Dorian!” And Cullen could feel it, the wave of healing magic, the green swirled around her like a cocoon. The seizure stopped, but they both knew it wasn’t over.

Dorian’s eyes didn’t so much as blink. “I can only hold it at bay. You can’t just _heal_ poison. You need to find the antidote.”

\--

The two men made quite the team. Cullen carried the limp Ashrielle in his arms, Dorian walked beside him, his hand resting on her scorching forehead while he kept the waves of healing magic coming. They walked past stunned scouts and soldiers. “Send Sister Liliana to me, at once,” Cullen demanded of one of them.

A salute, and then a mad dash.

They moved carefully down the stairs, and Cullen kicked open the door to the infirmary. Cullen slowly lowered her to the bed, trying not to interfere with the magic keeping her alive. At this point, Dorian was coated in a sheen of sweat, dark circles under the mage’s eyes prominent. “Surgeon! We believe she was poisoned. Can you do anything?”

The woman shook her head. “Not without knowing what she was poisoned with. I could give her something that would only make it worse.”

“Dorian?” Cullen asked.

The man wavered in his seat, but looked up at the surgeon. “Get Madame de Fer, get Solas.” She nodded and quickly exited.

Cullen saw the strain the Altus was under, and knew he wouldn’t make it until help arrived. “I’ll be right back.”

\--

True to his word, the Commander returned with haste, sweating slightly from the run. “Here.” He opened a wooden box and stared in, only a brief pause before he handed over a vial. Lyrium.

“Thank the Maker,” Dorian muttered, taking the vial, popping the top, and drinking it back. The surge of mana revived him and his efforts. Only then did he realize the lyrium stores were much too far away for Cullen to have returned so quick. One glance at the wooden box and he understood. Personal use… or torture, since Cullen being off Lyrium was something most knew of, but few spoke of.

The door opened, and Dorian glanced over. He’d hoped for Vivienne, or Solas. Neither being his favourite people in the world, but either would be extremely beneficial. Even with the Lyrium boost, his magic wasn’t indefinite and healing magic had a brutal toll. The pain crept in under his skin as he drained his mana and kept fighting. This, the painful price, was why Dorian figured so few mages ever became true healers. Alas, it was not reinforcements.

“Shit,” Krem said in the doorway. “Heard some gossip that our Herald ended up in the infirmary. What in the Void happened?”

“We aren’t entirely sure,” Cullen admitted. “It appears poison.”

Krem shut his eyes and cursed again. “I have to break this to Bull. It’ll be worse if he hears it from someone else.”

“He’ll want blood,” Dorian muttered, edging on the verge of unconsciousness.

Solas pushed past Krem, a stream of elven rushing out of his lips. Magic filled the room, the mark on her hand flaring for a moment. A deep breath, followed by calm. “Commander, Dorian needs you. I’ve got her, Dorian, let go.”

Even with the warning, Cullen didn’t expect Dorian to sigh, pull his hands back and drop unconscious to the side. He barely managed to catch the Altus. “Krem, locate Dalish, we’re going to need more trusted mages. And we need to figure out who did this.”

“That’ll be easy; firstly, I’m not her keeper, pun not intended; and Ashrielle has pissed off half a dozen nobles, not to mention everyone under the Qun.” Cullen just glared at Krem while dragging Dorian over to another cot. “Alright, alright, I’ll see what I can do about keeping the Chief from ripping this place apart, find Dalish, and locate whoever poisoned the Inquisitor.” He managed a half-assed smirk. “Piece of cake.”

\--

Krem pushed through the crowd in the tavern. Luckily, Maryden was still playing, people were still dancing, and drinking. The gossip had yet to hit there, and for that, the Charger was incredibly grateful. Bull had a drink in hand, but Krem could tell by the stance that he hadn’t had too much. A woman stood before him; a gorgeous one at that, all long legs and a thick braid of red hair- the Chief’s two biggest weaknesses.

“Maker preserve me,” Krem muttered under his breath. He spotted Rocky and Skinner but no other Charger. He paused at their table. “Find Dalish, send her to the Infirmary.” Skinner’s mouth opened, but the Lieutenant raised a hand. “Just do it.”

He didn’t wait for a response, he knew they would get the job done. Stepping up to the Bull, to the woman’s right. “Chief.”

The Iron Bull’s eye shifted immediately from the woman. They’d been friends too long for him to miss the hard tone of Krem’s voice, and far too observant. Krem simply angled his head, and walked away, trusting Bull would follow. The footsteps did follow as the two left the noisy tavern, and walked around the side.

“What is it, Krem?” Bull asked the second they appeared to be out of earshot of everyone.

Krem took a deep breath. “I need you to stay calm, Chief.”

The big Qunari crossed his arms. “It’s not easy when you say something like that.”

“There are mages with her, and the gate’s been closed, we will find who did this-“

Bull’s face fell, eye widening. “Kadan?”

Understanding the weight of the the Qunlat term of endearment, Krem bit his tongue to ward off the prickling in his eyes. Of all the things to haunt his nightmares, he was sure that the look upon Bull’s face in that moment would forever be one of them. “Ashrielle is going to be okay.” _I hope._ “We will find who did this.” _Unless they got out before the gate came down… or unless we have a traitor and can pin them down, this place is huge and there are so many people within Skyhold. It could take days. She doesn’t have days._

Krem wondered if his thoughts relayed on his facial expressions, because Bull went from the beginning stages of grief, to full fledged rage. “Where is she?”

“Infirma-“ he didn’t even have the word out before Bull was storming off in the direction.


	16. Brains Before Blood

The Inquisitor should have been safe within the walls of Skyhold. The Iron Bull worried about her when they were out on missions. The worry worsened when he wasn’t with her, but it never occurred to him to be afraid for her while in the fortress. Cullen was standing with some of his men outside of the Infirmary, and they promptly stepped aside as he stormed by. He shoved open the door and found Ashrielle on a cot, Vivienne standing over her, green magic swirling. Dorian was unconscious on another cot, Solas looking like he was suffering a migraine as he sat on a stool near Ashrielle’s bed.

“Solas?”

“She remains with us.” The elf lifted his head, dark shadows under his eyes. “At this point, we’re just holding onto her. We need to find who did this, and get the antidote.”

“Do we have any leads?” Bull asked.

“Yes. A pretty good one,” Cullen said stepping back in. He held up a thick page of parchment, upon it was a finely detailed sketch of a woman. “Belinda passed this woman as she approached the Inquisitor, luckily for us, she has a talent with charcoal.”

The door burst open again, more of the chargers flooding in, Dalish at the lead. “Creators,” she whispered. Shaking her head, she turned her attention to Bull, eyes inquisitive.

Bull knew. Dalish feared Templars, feared the label of apostate, feared being locked up in a damned tower. She hid her magic. Lied even to those who knew the truth. A habit born of fear. Still, he gave the order. “You hold her, understand?”

Dalish nodded. “I won’t let her go,” the elven woman promised. She went to stand near Vivienne waiting to take over.

Cullen showed the Chargers the picture, the woman already being searched for by Templars and scouts, and a handful of other agents. They passed it around, each pausing with it, taking a good long look.

“Chief,” Grim said- the first time Cullen had ever heard the man actually speak. “Saw her earlier.”

“Where?” Bull asked. “Was she with anyone-“

Grim held up a hand to stop the wave of questions. He was a good soldier, he knew what would be asked. “By the stables. Talking to some Chevalier.”

Bull wished he had his weapon on him, but then again, in his mood he didn’t really need it. “You sure?”

Grim just gave him an even glare. Of course he was sure. Wouldn’t have spoken up if he wasn’t.

Bull glanced at the prone body of his lover. “Chargers,” he looked at his men and gave them a nod. “Horns up.”

**

Bull stepped into the mostly emptied Great Hall with his lieutenant by his side. There was a part of him that was glad he hadn’t been the one to find the woman. After all, he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t have lost his temper, given into a more savage nature. They needed the antidote, not blood- not yet. Intelligence before brute strength- the Ben-Hassrath understood that. Still, it did bring him a little bit of satisfaction to see that Hall had shot both of her legs. The archer still had his bow in hand, and another arrow at the ready in case she tried anything.

Very few key members of the Inquisition stood in the hall. Lilianna stared at the woman with contempt. Hall stood at a good shooting distance away, a smug smirk upon his face. Varric stood from the opposite vantage point, Bianca at the ready. Tamar was a few feet to the side of the woman, the Reaver leaning heavily on the two handed Great Axe, the wicked smile displaying just how much she’d love to cut a limb or two off the woman. Josephine by the throne, rolls of parchment at her feet.

Cullen followed in behind, and clasped Bull on the shoulder. “The Inquisitor is still with us. We are lucky to have mages who have studied healing arts.”

“How much time do we have?” Bull asked.

Cullen frowned. “Not much. Such magic’s are tricky, most of the mages we have don’t have the skill set. Dorian was coming back around the last time I checked…”

“Not good enough,” Bull said, storming further into the room. “You.”

The woman jumped. Her eyes widened and she took terrified steps back, only to stop, as Tamar- much faster and stronger than most gave her credit for, held her axe with absolute control right to the retreating woman’s back. “Run and I’ll end you,” Tamar threatened.

The woman found some measure of strength to step away from the threat of the blade and spit at Bull’s feet. “Curse you, Savage.”

“Not real, not real, it can’t be real. His head belongs on his body. It doesn’t belong half in the mud… is that his arm?”

Bull took a deep breath, before turning to his blind side to see Cole standing there, staring at the woman. “Who is she?”

“The savages took them. Julien, Laurent… Marc.”

“The Dubois family,” Josephine said suddenly, abandoning the scrolls she had searched, and came to stand beside Lilianna. “Julien, Laurent, Marc, and Paulette.”

“Cole,” Bull said evenly, doing everything in his power to keep his anger at bay. “You want to help Ashrielle, right?”

“Of course.” The kid pushed his hat up slightly. “She is my friend.”

“She needs an antidote,” Bull said. “Where is it? It was probably in a-“

“Purple vial. Just in case. The poisoned blade is dangerous, and if anything goes wrong… use it. She recites the rules in her head, it calms her.”

“Where. Is. It,” he ground out the words, trying not to lose patience with Cole.

“In the barrel with the blade and the clothes she wore. East Ramparts.”

“No!” Paulette screamed, her hand shooting out toward Tamar, fire flicking from her fingers and catching the tunic on fire. Tamar screamed, and dropped trying to snuff out the flames.

Paulette turned on Bull and Cole, Cullen stepped forward. The former-Templar a force to be reckoned with, he slammed his sword into the ground and the flame on Paulette’s hands went out. Liliana swung a brass candle holder knocking the woman unconscious. Varric holstered Bianca and grabbed a small, heavy rug and helped put on the flames eating away at Tamar’s shirt.

“Nightingale, keep that bitch alive,” Bull said.

“Oh, I will,” Liliana replied with a malicious gleam in her eyes.

\--

Thanks to Cole, they found the right barrel; inside, the antidote. Bull ran with it, everyone moving out of his way. He burst through the door of the infirmary to find Dalish over Ashrielle, swaying ever so slightly as she struggled to maintain. Dorian stood beside her, doing what he could. Bull knew he owed them both. Big time.

“The antidote,” Surgeon stood, and he passed it off. “Good, good.”

They waited as it was administered. Waited. Waited.

“Well?” Bull snapped.

“It’s receding. It’s working,” Dalish said, she looked over, an elated smile on her face for just a moment before she fell. Dorian tried to catch her, only for them both to end up on the ground. He chuckled, and she just snuggled up. “I’ll just…nap.” And she was out.

Krem stepped forward, picked Dalish up, and carried her to one of the cots. Bull crouched down by Dorian. “How are you feeling?”

“Like Master Dennet’s horses trampled me. And then Cassandra bashed me with her training shield. And then I fell from the highest point of Skyhold.”

“So, like you spent a night drinking with me.”

Dorian managed a small laugh, before grimacing. “I could sleep for a week. In fact, I plan on it. And if anyone wakes me, I’ll set them on fire… given I can even work magic by then.”

“You did well.”

The Altus looked surprised, and then waved it off. “We all need her to save the world.”

Bull clasped the man’s hand. “Thank you, Dorian.”

The mage’s mask fell, and he managed a weak nod. “Any chance you’re going to help me up?”

**

“Bull?”

“Kadan,” the word fell from his lips in a sigh of relief. He touched her hair, her face, thumb brushing along her cheek. “How are you feeling?”

“Gross. I would murder a Chantry Sister for a bath.”

He barked out a rusty laugh. “Well, since you just woke, I won’t tell Cullen you said that.”

She smiled, and covered his hand with hers. “Hey, you’ve said that before. Kadan. What does it mean?”

For once, he found no fear in telling her. “My heart.” And when she smiled, he knew she’d given hers to him.

“Ma lath.” Brows pinched in confusion, but she turned and kissed his palm. “My love.”

**

Ashrielle stood at the war table for the first time since she’d been poisoned. The Iron Bull stood at her side, her advisors stood across from her. “How is Tamar?” she asked, studying the assignments on the board.

“Doing well,” Cullen answered. “She has already returned to training. Thanks to Varric’s quick thinking, the mages fire did little damage. The burns have healed as much as they are going to.”

She picked up one of the markers, turning it over in her hand. “What of Belinda and Hall?”

“They’ve both been assigned to a unit recovering supplies in the Hinderlands,” Liliana replied.

“Hmm. And the mages who assisted me?”

“Resting, but doing well,” Josephine said, a small smile in her voice.

“Right.” She ran her thumb over the force marker. “Paulette Dubois,” her voice shook, just a little. “What will you have me do with her?”

“That decision, as always, lands on you, Inquisitor,” Liliana replied softly.

“What do you recommend?”

“Leniency,” Josephine stated, to the utter shock of her fellow advisors. “I don’t like it either, but her family is very powerful in Orlais. They’ve lost their last son within the walls of Skyhold. We do not need more enemies.”

“She tried to kill Ashrielle,” Bull snarled. “And you want her to just let that woman go free?”

Ashrielle reached out, touched Bull’s arm. “I asked for their advice. You cannot get mad when they give it.”

“The Void with that,” Bull muttered.

“If you have a problem with it, you can wait outside,” Ashrielle replied, eyebrow arched.

“No. I’ll stay.”

She smiled, just slightly. “Liliana?”

“Their land would be beneficial to the Inquisition. Let’s use her for leverage,” Liliana clasped her hands behind her back. “I believe her parents would do anything to have her returned safely.”

“And Cullen,” Ashrielle turned to the Commander. “What would you have me do?”

“Have her executed. Publicly. It might be ugly, but it is necessary. We must send a message.”

Liliana arched a brow, and scoffed. “What message? That we don’t know the value our prisoners?”

Cullen’s hand rested upon the hilt of his sword. “Are you serious? This… woman tried to assassinate the Inquisitor. We must insure this is the last attempt that is ever made on her life.”

“And starting a small war, you think that is the way to do it?” Josephine chimed in.

Before either Cullen or Liliana could say anything more, Ashrielle raised her hand. “I’ve heard enough. Tomorrow, I will make my decision. Bring her to the throne for judgement at noon.” She placed the forces pawn back where it belonged.

**

Bull thought he would be relieved when his Kadan woke. He thought the fear holding his heart in a vice grip would loosen. It hadn’t. She stared out the windows, distant from even him. “Tell me what you’re thinking, Kadan.”

“Cullen is right. We need to send a message.” She turned to him, eyes watery. “I’m scared, Bull.”

When he pulled her into his arms, she seemed smaller, frailer for the admission. He wanted to make promises, but she had already been hurt, and what promise could ease those fears. “You are so strong, Asaaranda.”

“I’m… I’m not scared for me.” She looked up at him, those light blue eyes haunting him. “I’m scared of who I’m becoming.” She ran her hands over his chest. “Be my strength, Ma Lath.”

“Always, Kadan.”

**Author's Note:**

> Elvish:  
> Da’len- little child  
> Enansal- blessing (/or gift)  
> Ma serannas- my thanks  
> Elgar- sprit  
> Ma falon- my friend  
> Ma lath- my love  
> Halani- help  
> Garas- come  
> Qunlat:  
> Asaaranda- thunderstorm


End file.
